CHAPTER 3: THE MILK MAN COMETH (AND GOETH)
The next morning on the Waverider was a symphony of alien noises and the low hum of advanced technology, punctuated by the occasional clatter from the galley and the distant, rhythmic thudding of Mick Rory probably hitting something with his fire gun in the cargo bay. Adam woke up in his assigned bunk, which was surprisingly comfortable for a time-traveling spaceship, considering the bed itself looked like something salvaged from a minimalist alien prison. He stretched, feeling the lingering aches from yesterday's "getting stabbed by a Victorian thug" incident, which were already fading rapidly. His regeneration was definitely working overtime.
'Okay, day two in my new, ridiculously cool, and inherently dangerous life. What's on the agenda? Time travel? Saving history? Or just trying to figure out which button summons coffee and which one jettisons the waste? Priorities, Adam. Priorities.'
He shuffled out of his bunk, still in the dark grey hoodie and jeans. He passed the galley, where Ray Palmer was meticulously brewing coffee with some sort of advanced filtration system.
"Morning, Anomaly!" Ray chirped, ever the morning person. "Sleep well? I was thinking, we could run some tests on your regenerative cells later. The kinetics of the process are truly extraordinary."
"Morning, Ray," Adam yawned. "Slept like a baby. A baby who occasionally gets impaled, but a baby nonetheless. And sure, poke me with whatever you want. Just promise me you won't turn me into a giant, sentient blob of regenerative goo. I have standards."
Ray chuckled. "Don't worry, my experiments are strictly ethical. Mostly."
Adam grabbed a mug of coffee, inhaling the rich aroma. "Bless you, Ray. This smells like the nectar of the gods after a long night of… well, existing in the 19th century without indoor plumbing." He took a long, blissful sip. "Ah, perfection. Now, about that milk prank. Time to put the 'hypnosis' part of my powers to the test."
He spotted Mick Rory lumbering into the galley, his eyes still half-closed, heading straight for the industrial-sized fridge. Adam quickly moved, positioning himself casually near the fridge, pretending to be utterly absorbed in the intricate patterns of the bulkhead.
Mick grunted, pulling open the fridge door. His gaze landed on a carton of milk, then shifted to Adam, then back to the milk. He frowned. "What are you staring at, pretty boy?"
Adam looked up, locking eyes with Mick. He tried to project an air of casual, innocent suggestion. "Oh, nothing. Just contemplating the sheer, unadulterated deliciousness of… milk. So pure. So refreshing. Hits just the spot, doesn't it?"
Mick blinked. He looked at the milk carton. A strange, confused expression flickered across his face. "Milk?" he grumbled. "That's for babies."
"Is it?" Adam mused, keeping eye contact, injecting his voice with a subtle, persuasive tone. "Or is it… the ultimate beverage? The unsung hero of the dairy aisle? The only thing that truly quenches a man's thirst after a long night of… fire and mayhem? Imagine, Mick, just a tall, cool, glass of… milk."
Mick's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment. He picked up the milk carton, still frowning, but a strange, almost yearning look appeared in his eyes. "Milk," he repeated, a low rumble in his chest.
"Indeed," Adam said, pouring himself another cup of coffee, careful to break eye contact. He knew he couldn't push too hard, too fast. The hypnosis needed a natural-feeling suggestion.
Mick pulled out a glass, poured the milk, and took a tentative sip. His eyes widened. He took another, longer gulp. A look of… contentment?… spread across his face.
Adam had to bite back a laugh. 'Oh, this is going to be epic. He's actually enjoying it. The poor, misguided, milk-loving brute.'
Later that morning, the Waverider's common room became the stage for Adam's grand experiment. Mick Rory was curled up on one of the ridiculously ergonomic chairs, cradling a glass of milk like it was the most precious elixir in the universe. He was even humming faintly. A tuneless, guttural hum, but a hum nonetheless.
Rip Hunter walked in, carrying a stack of datapad files, and stopped dead. He stared at Mick, then at the half-empty milk carton. His face contorted into a look of profound confusion.
"Mr. Rory?" Rip ventured, sounding as if he'd just witnessed a unicorn tap-dancing. "Are you… enjoying that beverage?"
Mick grunted, taking another long sip. "It's… good. Soothing."
Rip blinked. He turned to Sara, who had just entered, a protein bar in hand. "Am I experiencing a temporal distortion? Did I accidentally jump to a reality where Mick Rory prefers milk to beer?"
Sara took one look at Mick, then at Adam, who was trying (and failing) to look innocent while sipping his coffee. A slow smile spread across her face. "Adam."
"Yes, Sara?" Adam asked, wide-eyed.
"Did you… do something?"
Adam put a hand to his chest. "Me? Never. I'm just a humble bystander, enjoying the simple pleasures of a balanced breakfast. Perhaps Mick has simply discovered the profound joy that is dairy."
Mick suddenly looked up, his eyes focusing on Adam with a terrifying clarity. The hypnosis seemed to be wearing off, or perhaps the sheer unnaturalness of his milk craving was breaking through. "You," he growled, slowly rising from the chair, the milk glass still clutched in his hand. "This is your fault, isn't it? You did something to my head!"
Adam, sensing the shift, instantly put on his best "who, me?" expression. "Mick, my friend, are you suggesting I possess the incredible power to subtly alter your deepest desires? That I, a mere mortal, could twist your mind to crave… milk?" He let the word hang in the air, dripping with mock incredulity.
Mick, however, was past subtle reasoning. His face was turning an alarming shade of red. "I just wanted a beer! But then… the milk! It called to me!" He lunged forward, abandoning the glass.
Adam, with a yelp, darted behind the console, narrowly avoiding Mick's grasping hand. "Whoa, whoa, easy there, big guy! It was just a little experiment! For science! And comedy!"
Rip threw up his hands. "Stiels! What have you done?!"
"I've elevated Mick's palate, Captain!" Adam yelled back, still using the console as a shield while Mick roared in frustration, trying to reach him. "He'll thank me later! Probably! After he gets over the existential dread of realizing he enjoyed drinking milk!"
Sara leaned against the doorframe, openly laughing now. It was a rare, genuine laugh, and it warmed Adam more than the satisfaction of the prank itself. 'Success! Operation: Annoy the Grumpy One, while also making the Assassin smile, is a go!'
Jax and Professor Stein entered, drawn by the commotion. "What in the blazes is going on here?" Stein demanded, immediately flustered.
"Adam made Mick crave milk!" Jax explained, trying to stifle his own laughter.
Stein stared, utterly bewildered. "He possesses the ability to… induce a craving for dairy products? That's… highly unusual. And utterly unproductive for saving the timeline!"
"But hilarious!" Jax added.
"Silence, Jax!" Stein snapped, though his lips twitched.
Snart, who had also arrived, leaning against a doorframe, watched the chaos unfold with an unreadable expression. He merely took a slow sip of his own coffee, then raised an eyebrow at Adam. "You've got guts, Anomaly. Or no self-preservation instincts whatsoever."
Adam finally emerged from behind the console, Mick still grumbling but less actively chasing him. "It's a delicate balance, Captain. A dance between chaos and calculated risk. Besides, it proves my hypnosis works! Now we know I can disorient an enemy just by making them want a glass of warm milk."
Rip pinched the bridge of his nose so hard Adam thought he might actually dent it. "Stiels, your abilities are meant for saving history, not for tormenting your crewmates. Is that understood?"
"Loud and clear, Captain," Adam said, though his mischievous grin betrayed him. "No more milk pranks. For now. But don't think I'm out of ideas. I'm a fountain of harmless, infuriating fun."
He spent the rest of the morning discreetly practicing his telekinesis in his bunk, trying to stack small, metallic objects without touching them. It was harder than it looked. Sometimes the objects would just vibrate, sometimes they'd fly wildly across the room, and once, a stray toothbrush ended up embedded in the ceiling. He was still very much in the "raw, uncontrolled" phase.
'This is going to take some work. It's like trying to juggle chainsaws while riding a unicycle, blindfolded. I can feel the power, but directing it? That's the tricky part. Still, at least I'm not accidentally setting things on fire like Mick. Small victories.'
The afternoon brought a mission briefing that somehow managed to be even more convoluted than the last. Rip had pinpointed another temporal aberration – a surge of Nth Metal, a rare and powerful element often favored by Vandal Savage, detected in a bustling metropolis in 1942.
"The location," Rip explained, pointing to a holographic map of a war-torn London, "is during the height of the Blitz. Savage, it seems, is attempting to weaponize Nth Metal for his own nefarious purposes, no doubt intending to use it against a vulnerable population."
Adam leaned forward. "Wait, the Blitz? So, flying metal birds and lots of explosions? This is going to be like Inglourious Basterds meets The Rocketeer! Awesome! Do I get a cool fedora? Because I feel like I'd rock a fedora in the 40s."
Rip ignored him, as per usual. "The city is under constant bombardment. We will need to be extremely cautious. Casualties are high."
"And you're sending us into a literal war zone?" Sara asked, a hint of concern in her voice. "That sounds like a great way to accidentally become a casualty of war ourselves."
"Precisely why we must operate with extreme precision," Rip countered. "Our objective is to locate the Nth Metal, neutralize Savage's agents, and prevent any alterations to this pivotal moment in history."
"So, basically," Adam summarized, "we drop into a literal firestorm, find a magic metal, beat up some Nazis – or whatever Savage is calling his goons this week – and try not to accidentally invent TikTok in the process. Got it. Sounds like a Tuesday."
Mick snorted. "More like a Monday. A really bad Monday."
Snart, however, offered a rare, almost insightful comment. "Chaotic. Dangerous. Just the way I like it."
Professor Stein sighed, already looking weary. "I shall begin preparing the necessary instruments for Nth Metal detection. And perhaps a historical overview of the socio-political climate for Mr. Stiels, since he seems intent on treating this as a fantastical adventure rather than a genuine historical crisis."
Adam winked at Stein. "Hey, Professor, if I don't treat it like a fantastical adventure, I'll probably just curl up in a ball and cry about the sheer hopelessness of it all. Laughter is my coping mechanism. That, and the ability to not die. Very convenient."
As the team dispersed to prepare, Adam felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. This was it. His first real mission. London. The Blitz. Vandal Savage's agents. This was going to be a true test of his nascent powers, his wit, and his ability to not accidentally break the timeline into a million tiny, unfixable pieces.
'Okay, Anomaly, time to put on your big boy pants. Or, you know, your slightly less stained grey hoodie. This isn't just a TV show anymore. This is real. And if I screw this up, there won't be a convenient retcon button to fix it. Unless I find a cosmic entity that offers another do-over, and honestly, that seems unlikely. No pressure. Just the fate of the timeline resting on my incredibly sarcastic shoulders.'
He found himself wandering into the armory, watching Sara meticulously cleaning her staff. She was so focused, so calm, even in the face of imminent danger. It was both intimidating and mesmerizing.
"So," he began, leaning against the doorframe, "any tips for surviving a literal aerial bombardment while simultaneously trying to be a superhero?"
Sara glanced up, her eyes glinting. "Don't get hit. And if you do, try to make sure it's not a bomb. Because even your regeneration might have trouble with 'vaporized'."
Adam winced. "Fair point. Noted. 'Avoid vaporization.' Added to my mental checklist, right after 'don't make Mick crave anything else weird' and 'don't accidentally flirt with a historical figure and change the course of human events'."
Sara actually smiled, a genuine, if fleeting, curve of her lips. "You're… different, Stiels. Most people are terrified when Rip tells them what we're about to do."
"Well, I already died once," Adam said, shrugging. "Everything after that is just bonus content. Besides, I've always wanted to see what it's like to be a literal legend. Even if it means dealing with constant explosions and a captain who looks like he's allergic to fun."
Sara shook her head, but her smile lingered. "Just try not to get yourself killed. Or me. Or the timeline."
"No promises on the timeline," Adam said cheerfully. "But I'll do my best to keep us all in one piece. Mostly. And hey, if I do get vaporized, at least I'll go out with a bang. Literally."
He walked away, a spring in his step, ready for whatever chaotic adventure awaited them. London, 1942. Here he came. And he was bringing his sarcastic A-game.