Chapter 7 : Unexpected results

 

The Thompson’s home, Forest Hill, Queens, 24th of January, 21:37

 

I may have driven as fast as I could on the way back home, but I still arrived way later than usual.

Rosie and Jessie had been worried sick because I ‘forgot my phone’ this morning and I had to take the time to calm them down. Harrison just threw me a disparaging look and left it at that.

 

Turning on my phone that I had left at home this morning in case something happened, to avoid being tracked down by GPS, had been a mixed blessing, considering the slew of panicked messages Gwen left me.

They stopped after a while, which means she probably passed out for the night. I just texted her back to tell her not to freak out in the morning and to meet me in front of the school at 07:45.

I was crossing my fingers extra-hard while doing so, hoping that she would trust a teenager’s judgment over her family, or worse, Oscorp.

 

Now I am once again laying on my bed, discussing what to do with the samples we gathered with my blood-sister.

 

She has bad news for me.

 

“The segment of your life-code that I must edit simply cannot contain all the information we gathered, you will have to make some choices, blood-sister.”

 

She is mock-sitting at my hip level, ‘hands’ in her ‘lap’, watching all of my reactions intently.

 

Is she worried that I would be upset ? She is the one who asked to speak about it face to face after all.

 

Is it an attempt to lessen the backlash ?

 

She should know me better than that.

 

I kindly smile at her.

 

“That is ok, we don’t need all of them,” I sooth her, her shoulder relaxing immediately, “Just tell me roughly how many abilities we can cram in it.”

 

She ponders, then makes a so-so gesture as she answers.

 

“Roughly four, maybe five if they synergize together.”

I nod slowly to her, my short hair rustling on the pillow.

 

Can’t wait to let them grow !

 

Focus.

 

“Can you isolate each of them in the samples ?” I ask.

 

“I already did and I have a vague idea of what they do.” She immediately answers.

 

“That’s perfect, let me make a list.”

 

I close my eyes as I think.

 

“I want Grey’s potential, Wagner’s teleportation, En Sabah Nur’s technopathy and dear Logan’s healing factor.” I rattle after a while.

 

Jean Grey’s baseline made her an omega level mutant by itself, so I’m not skipping it no matter what ; Teleportation is too useful not to have especially if I can work on its range ; An innate technopathy will allow me to raise humanity to the technological level of a space-faring civilisation if I play my cards right ; And being able to shrug mortal wounds is a necessity in this world.

 

She stills, calculating the odds.

 

“It will not fit.” She says after a while.

 

I frown.

 

“It will if we forwent the empathy and dovetail the teleportation and technopathy to the telepathy.” She explains.

 

I see, but…

 

“But if one is impaired so are the others.” I develop under my breath.

 

“Correct. I also suspect that an undiluted feral healing factor would alter your personality, we should combine it to the dormant one present in the angel’s blood.” She adds.

 

“His name is Warren,” I chid her gently, “Angel is his codename.”

 

The guy was of surprisingly good company, if a bit tormented. I wouldn’t mind being his friend.

 

She wordlessly nods.

 

“I’ll have to trust your judgment on that, you’re the expert here,” I finally answer with a smile.

 

“Very well.”

 

She stills for a beat.

 

“Done. I have a workable cell with the required parameters.” She tells me with an excited smile.

 

“Did you add the modifications we discussed to the appendix ?” I ask her archingly.

 

“I did,” she answers easily, “It’ll extract more phenylalanine from the food you ingest, especially vegetables, and convert it to appropriate nutrients for me. It’ll also regulate your vitamin C levels so that you stay comfy for me to dwell into. You’ll need a lot of sun exposure to catalyze the reaction, but it’s still miles ahead of gobbling pills and eating chocolate non-stop.”

 

I have to hmm at that.

 

“And for your own life-code ?”

 

“I’ll do it once you’re under. I just need a low level of telekinesis for now, I’ll be able to imprint the rest from you.” 

 

I clap my hand, giggling.

 

“So, let’s do it ?” I ask excitedly.

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From the other side of the mind-link, I feel her being as giddy as I am.

 

“Let’s do it.” She nods, her smile stretching wider.

 

***

 

Just like we did with Kilgrave’s power, the process we’re using to make me a perfect mutant (and curvy !) body works by rewriting completely a cell in my brain, which must be the first thing to change so that I can gradually acclimate to the extremely high level of telekinesis, telepathy and technopathy that I will be able to use, destroy the cells adjacents to it, let the rewritten one spread and repeat.

 

If the ‘brain’, the center of my mind, is the first thing to gradually change, then my mind will gradually swap places for brain’s cells A to B.

 

More like B to A in this case, B standing for ‘blurgh’ and A for ‘awesome !’.

 

The thing is that I have to stay conscious to keep my enormous potential-to-be under lock or we’re going to be so screwed. So, until my brain is as freshly new as a newborn’s own, I’ll have to meditate and stay focused.

 

I’m sitting cross-legged with my back against the wall on my bed and my breath even, thinking about the void in my mind.

 

The air comes in my lungs ; it is cold. I let it go through my nose ; it is warm.

 

The void blinks at me.

 

I cannot help but to stagger.

It barely started, but I suddenly hear/see/taste/feel everything around me.

 

I see Harrison's troubled past, rearing its uggly and traumatic head while he’s dozing off in front of the TV downstairs.

 

I taste Rosie’s worries about her son who changed so much as she finds herself living with a stranger under her roof.

 

I hear the happy tunes going round in Jessie’s sleeping mind now that her brother is kind and protects her.

 

And I feel every piece of electronics, mechanics and even the toys in the house jerking and coming alive as they realize that they can understand and talk to me.

 

I keep my focus as sharp as I can, as narrow as I can, as I feel my buttocks leaving the bed when I start levitating surrounded by grayish-red energy.

 

My mind’s eyes narrow, and narrow, and narrow again on the inhabitants of the house, alive and not, as the background noise that is the outside of the house starts making itself known.

 

They all anchor me : the deep-rooted hurt of a victim, the care of a mother, the love of a sibling and the happiness of meeting some being who just gets you.

 

The air comes in my lungs ; it is cold. I let it go through my nose ; it is warm.

 

Again and again, I repeat my mantra as I feel myself getting more aware, more vast, more conscious of everything.

 

Of every being.

 

Of every soul.

 

…/&#-{|/joy/hurt/pain/love/hate/terror/bliss/=’(_+}^/000101100011/110001111111/…

 

It keeps rattling in my mind as I stumble upon a new animal, a new person, a new machine, a new computer, then it promptly fades at the same level of the others, a slow susurrus, like a lullaby.

 

The air comes in my lungs ; it is cold. I let it go through my nose ; it is warm.

 

I feel a door draw itself in my mind as my power grows, as it becomes mine.

 

It speaks of dreams, of vastness, of the unconscious.

It leads to the Astral.

 

The air comes in my lungs ; it is cold. I let it go through my nose ; it is warm.

 

The current of my telekinesis ebbs and flows, getting thicker and thicker by the moment, but always staying here, coiled in my mind as it pulses gently like a heartbeat, yet tensed like a prowling and powerful feline.

 

I could rip the house apart with but a thought, now, but it just coils and coils and coils on itself as I coax it gently.

 

It is my new limb, and it will obey me.

 

The air comes in my lungs ; it is cold. I let it go through my nose ; it is warm.

 

Slowly, gently, the rush of information starts to settle, getting easier to process, to tame.

 

The whole force of my mind that I bear now doesn’t struggle anymore like a trapped lion but purr like a well-fed housecat.

 

I realize that I’m drenched in sweat, that my blood-sister’s side of the mind-link is [Agitated/Worried/Panicked/Afraid].

 

I fall back on my bed and pass out from exhaustion.

 

***

 

I am in a strange place.

 

I do not see, yet I can.

I do not hear, yet I can.

I do not feel the wind of my arms, yet I can.

 

I look to my right, then to my left.

 

It is a mismatch of colors, sensations, odors, tastes.

 

I exhale and take stock.

 

I am in the astral.

 

I look at me, really look at me.

 

My spiritual body looks like mine from a death and a universe ago.

 

A tether hangs around me, and I know that if I follow it, I’ll be back.

 

In front of me is a cube. It is crystalline and see through.

 

A boy, expression frozen yet eyes roaming, is trapped inside.

 

I know who he is because I saw his reflection everyday in the mirror when I washed my teeth.

 

We also happen to share the same tether.

 

Eugene “Flash” Thompson's mind still lives, trapped in the astral plane.

 

I frown.

 

It simply won't do.

 

I near to it.

 

As I lay my hand onto his prison, I hear his [plea/hate/fear/joy/anger/distress].

 

He is unstable, and I simply cannot have that too.

 

I focus, and from one, I become two.

 

I leave a part of me behind for him to talk to as I make my way back to the material world.

 

***

 

“Hello”, ‘me’ says to the trapped boy.

 

‘Me’ had to create a phantasmal space to interact with him.

 

“You !” He seethes when he sees me.

 

“Hold,” ‘me’ says, “Do not blame me for what was done to you, I am as much a victim as you are.”

 

“You stole my body !” The boy growls.

 

“I did not,” ‘me’ says, “But if you’re going to be difficult, then I’ll be harsh.”

 

‘Me’ snaps her fingers, and the boy finds himself sitting on a couch, restrained for now.

 

“What are you doing ?” He howls, trying to escape.

 

“Why, we’re going to watch a movie, of course.” ‘Me’ says as she sits near the struggling boy.

 

“What ?” He babbles.

 

A home-cinema appears in front of the couch.

 

“The title is ‘Flash Thompson’s poor life’s choices’. We will watch it, then talk about it, about what you could do better and if you behave, I’ll free you from here.” ‘Me’ says with a kind smile.

 

“What the hell are you tal…” The boy starts saying, but his mouth is suddenly gagged.

 

“Shh, shh, shh,” ‘Me’ says, “It is starting.”

 

***

 

The Thompson’s home, Forest Hill, Queens, 25th of January, 03:18

 

My eyes flutter open, but two alien hands soon cover them.

 

In my mind, clearer than ever amid the surface thoughts of all that lives for miles around us, the [Shame, anxiety, fear] of my blood-sister rings the clearest.

 

She’s pressing herself over my head, or so I imagine, because there are many new sensations that just reach my brain at the same time, but I’m fairly confident that she’s squishinq a whole lot of hair that wasn't there before with her ‘weight’.

 

“I’m sorry,” she starts, “Things got out of control at some point and I suddenly had a lot of things to correct and I couldn’t do them all and…”

 

“Let me see ?” I mentally ask because it is so much easier than talking now.

 

“Ok, alright, ok.” She tries to settle but I can tell it’s feigned.

 

She doesn’t budge though, so I just shrug and float my way out of my bed toward the bathroom.

 

I do not even need to physically close the door as I cross the threshold. I just do so mentally while flicking the lights on.

 

I gently alight.

 

“Can you let go of me now ?” I ask, and my voice is a rich alto, like melted caramel for your ears, hot and syrupy.

 

I quiver in anticipation because I know that I’m going to relish singing with it.

 

She still doesn’t budge and starts to whisper under her breath.

 

“Ok, so, so, I didn’t take into account the previous modifications made on your body to use the Purple Man’s power. You remember when we talked about him having a minor healing factor ? Of course you did, I’m stupid, you’re the one who told me so. Well, when the process reached the language center of your brain, some cells fused with the previous ones and the three healing factors sort of merged together, I guess ? Anyway it started to activate the parts I had suppressed in the composite X-gene, notably those of the an… Warren’s ones, but the process was already well under way, and I couldn’t stop it and it started backtracking to convert the cells that were already changed. I couldn’t destroy them fast enough and I couldn’t risk it anyway because you were already channeling your powers, so I did the next best thing and started stripping the cells of the suppressed parts as quickly as I could and channeled them toward me.”

 

She hesitates.

 

“It sort of integrated itself in the modifications I made on me and it is not going away no matter how hard I try, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that because I kind of butchered the process in panic they were… Unforeseen cosmetic changes ? And other side effects ?”

 

I feel her wince, waiting for a rebuke that is yet to come.

 

I am almost certain, but I need to know.

 

“Do I look like a girl, sister ?” I softly ask her.

 

I feel her jerkily nod and the immense weight that was starting to settle on my shoulder is blown away.

 

“You always were and you look like one again, just a bit unique…” She hesitates, then starts to melt back into me.

 

“I can handle looking unique just fine, sis’.” I answer kindly, shrugging my PJs telekinetically.

 

In front of the mirror, my eyes open.

 

I’m shorter than Flashy was previously, 5’4 if I had to guess, but it is relatively tall for a woman and it fits me just fine.

 

My breasts are just as I wished they were, firm and perky, neither too big nor too small.

 

My hips are just shy of being too wide, and looking from the side shows me that I have an ass that would make a goddess weep from envy.

 

Oh my god, I can rock yoga pants !

 

I have an hourglass figure, lightly toned and curvy, with long legs and dainty feet.

 

My pubic hairs stop just shy of my very feminine private parts, my armpits are totally bare and I am silky smooth everywhere else. It’s a permanent thing because I am sick and tired of waxing myself for a lifetime.

 

I still have my baby blue eyes since I actually learned to love them, but my cheeks are higher and rounder, my mouth is heart shaped with thick lips, I have a little button up nose that you’d want to squish, and my face is thin and soft.

 

My skin looks like mate gold, which would indeed raise some eyebrows, but less than my hair, eyebrows and very-private-body-hair which are the purest white there is.

 

I wanted straight hair, but I have a mass of curls that goes absolutely everywhere, and they are absolutely gorgeous.

 

Like me.

 

I’m fucking gorgeous.

 

Oh my god, I’m drop-dead gorgeous.

 

I look like an alien princess from another world, too perfect to be real, with strange hair and skin tone.

 

And I fucking love it.

 

I fucking love myself.

 

I can’t help but step closer to the full length mirror, a hand rising to cover my quivering mouth as tears of happiness start to pearl at the corner of my eyes.

 

“[Anxiety, interrogation] : You aren’t mad at me ?” Softly asks my sister.

 

As I touch the mirror with my free hand in a futile gesture to settle the fact that ‘yes, this is me, this is my body now’, I send on the mind-link the strongest feeling of love, care and pride that I can muster.

 

“No, you silly goose,” I throatily laugh, tears of joy streaming, “I absolutely fucking love you.”

 

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