Can it be? I'm writing a non-Ranma fic? Actually, it's not even
anime - it's based on the Points story started by Twister. I originally
posted it to the TempML during a lull, and was pleasantly surprised that
it generated some feedback. Figured I'd send it to the FFML, too.
Couple quick comments. If you've read Twister's Puck stories,
you'll quickly noticed some of the stuff here doesn't jive. I messed up
the dates and times when writing this - gonna fix it on a rewrite
(actually, a major overhaul). It's a bit rough, too: I wrote it as an
exercise in procrastination about 6-7 months ago, in something like two
sittings, and havn't fixed it up yet. I'm hoping to get back to it in
the summer, especially if people are interested in it (and there's otehr
people working on Points stuff out there, too - c'mon guys, show us what
you've got! Or we should at least make sure we don't contradict each
other...)
Finally, yes, Dave is rather pathetically blatantly a
self-insertion. It's kinda embarrassing, and I'm gonna fix that up a bit
during the rewrite.
Gah. This intro's gonna be longer than the fic. Sorry. Here's
the story. Enjoy! And C&Cs always nice!
-Mike Noakes
***
Darren Steffler's Points Series
AUTHOR'S VIEW:
The crowds surged through the streets, drunkenly and
boisterously cheering, singing, and enjoying themselves. Complete
strangers clapped each other on the backs, bought each other drinks,
talked loudly like old friends. The throng of thousands partied as a
whole, ignoring - for the most part - such petty differences as gender,
age, or nationality. It was a Friday night; more importantly, it was the
end of a millennium.
The epicentre of all this activity was, of course, Parliament
Hill, where Canadian bands played the show of their careers; behind
them, technicians prepared the most extravagant fireworks display in
Ottawa's history. The highlight of the night was, of course, going to be
the midnight countdown, at which point the Peace Tower - finally
completed - would be unveiled in all it's restored splendour. People
could feel the buzz, the energy in the air. They stood on the verge of
a new era; it would be a night they would never forget.
It most certainly would...
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
This Will be the Title
by
Michael Noakes
Based on the setting created by
Darren Steffler (AKA Twister)
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
EXTERNAL VIEW - DAVE:
"WHAT?"
Dave fell back heavily, arms and legs spread wide, the light
snow and frozen grass crunching beneath him, and returned to his
contemplation of the stars - or, more accurately, what few he could
make out that weren't blotted out by the city lights. "You heard me..."
he whispered. He noticed with a detached air as his breath condensed
in the chill air and quickly separated. Words given form, torn by the
night winds - Wordsworth would've probably had something annoying
Romantic to say about it, he thought idly. His fist clenched
unconsciously.
"But... how... how long have you know?"
He glanced up at Amy, hovering over him in concern. I guess
I ought to feel happy, thought Dave, wearily closing his eyes. I've got
a beautiful girlfriend... I think I even love her... she's worried about
me... what's going to be the greatest party of my life's going on... He
sighed. Hell, I'm even nicely drunk, he thought, languid swirling the
half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. This is probably going to be the
greatest night of my life... He had to consciously force the hand
gripping the bottle to relax, and he let out a deep breath. Yeah, just
wonderful...
"Dave?" He heard the snow crunch as Amy kneeled next to
him, lightly shaking his shoulder. "C'mon... are you alright?"
He open his eyes. "Oh, yeah, just fine. Great. Wonderful."
He gave a bitter chuckle. "It's the beginning of a new millennium!
Why wouldn't I be happy?"
"David... please..." Oh, great, he thought. She's calling me
_David_. Now she's going to try and comfort me. Wonderful. "I
know this must hurt, but..."
Dave winced at that ever so annoying tone crept into her voice.
She wasn't even aware of it, he knew, but it still grated on his nerved.
Normally, he just ignored it - this time, he couldn't. Not... today. Not
after what had happened.
"Don't." He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at
her. She blinked at the emotions she now saw in him barely held in
check, surging behind dark eyes. "Don't even _start_. I don't want to
hear your little 3rd-year psych theories on what's wrong with me and
what I oughta do. I'm not some fucking case study, alright?"
"Dave!" she exclaimed, surprised and hurt by the venom in his
words. "I... I only want to help..."
"Yeah? Really?" He sat up fully, face flushing. How dare
she? he thought angrily. _She_ had nothing to worry about! _She_ still
had her parents! _She_ still knew who she _was_! How could she
_possibly_ know how this hurt, how he felt, try to _comfort_ him? He
didn't _want_ comfort! He wanted to... wanted to lash out, vent his
rage, do _something_! He wanted... "You want to help? Eh? Then
leave me alone!"
Amy stood up and looked down at him. "Is that what you really
want?"
He glared back up at her. "I certainly don't want _you_
around."
She hesitated only momentarily, staring at him with frozen
features. Dave saw her clearly in the instant before she turned away -
the high, angular cheekbones, small nose, smooth skin, her thick, blond
braid sticking out from beneath her coat's hood. The streetlight
silhouetted her from behind, making her seem to glow with her own
frosty aura. "I really hate it when you get like this." she said coldly,
then turned away.
Dave watched her stride across the park. The image of her
standing over him, eyes cast in shadows from the backlight (though he
knew them to be a clear, icy-blue), burnt itself into his mind. For some
reason, it struck him as terribly poetic. He dropped back down to the
ground, contemplating the image of his girlfriend for a long time. I
really oughta try and capture the moment, he thought. Maybe write a
poem or something. Instead, he staggered to his feet and urinated
against a nearby tree, taking the time to write his name in the snow. He
ran out of juice half-way through the 'v'.
He jumped slightly as he heard a loud bang from above,
followed by a sudden brightening in the sky. He turned and watched
as the first of the fireworks exploded in the distance. He felt a
moments regret; he should be with Amy, and Jeff, and Sean, and the
rest of he gang. Instead, he was alone. In the park. Alone.
"Thanks, mom..." he whispered sardonically, unconsciously
fingering the crumpled letter in his pocket. "Whoever you are..."
Dave stared unbelievingly at the letter he held in his hands.
Behind him, Mitch, his roommate, was transferring beer from its case
to a packsack in preparation for transportation to the New Year's Eve
festivities planned for tonight.
"Man, tonight's gonna be great!" Mitch exclaimed, hefting his
bag. An ominous number of bottles clanked as they shifted slightly.
When Dave didn't answer, he glanced at his friend. "Dave?" Mitch
stepped closer. "Yo, Dave! You ok?"
"Ye... yeah." answered the roommate. "Yeah." He drew a
hand through his unruly dirty-blond hair - a usual sign of nervousness
or that something was bothering him.
Mitch stepped closer and noticed the letter. The hand holding
it was slightly trembling. "What's that?"
Dave glanced down at the letter. "This? Nothing. It's...
nothing. A... joke. A nasty practical joke." He looked back up, and
the reflection in the mirror looked shocked.
"Really?"
"Yeah." He paused. "It has to be. It just _has_ to." The hand
gripping the letter clenched convulsively. He thought for a moment,
while Mitch looked on and started to feel a little concerned. When
Dave spoke up again, his voice cared a note of pleading. "Listen,
Mitch... would you mind... ah, leaving the room for a couple of
minutes? I... need to make a phone call. A private one. Please?" His
eyes silently begged him.
Mitch wondered what was going on. Leaving the room wasn't
a problem - he'd just go hang at Michelle's, next room over - but it was
an unusual request, since Dave usually didn't care if Mitch overheard
his phone conversations (and, considering the size and quality of the
rooms in Thompson residence, overhearing any conversation over a
whisper was inevitable). More surprising was his roommate's
obvious shaken state - Dave almost always appeared calm, collected,
never stressed out, rarely angry or depressed, never letting his
emotions fly out of control. For him to be so distraught over a letter...
Mitch nodded once and stepped out of the room.
Behind him, Dave sighed and picked up the phone, and dialled
home. And soon got confirmation of what the letter had told him.
"Why didn't you tell me...?" he muttered, wandering aimlessly
into the centre of the park. He stared down at the letter in his own
hand, the bottle in the other. The anger that had been building in him
all day, the rage fed by his sense of betrayal and loss, boiled and
seethed within. He started to shake.
"Why?" How could his... parents?... lie to him, for so long?
"Why?" Who... who sent him the letter?
"Why?" Why... why send him the letter?
Was he better off knowing the truth?
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WEREN'T MY
PARENTS?" he suddenly screamed, his restraints snapping, his anger,
released. "HOW COULD YOU LIE TO ME?" With a savage howl,
he hurled the bottle with all his might. It smashed against a far tree,
amber liquid spraying out.
He screamed again, this time incoherently, and hurled himself
against a nearby tree. His shoulder slid painfully against the rough
bark, painful even through his jacket. He didn't notice, drawing back
from the tree, before slamming against it once more. He mindlessly
started to pummel his fists into the bark, eyes squeezed shut. Finally,
he collapsed against the tree, slumping down, breath coming in ragged
gasps. He stared numbly at his torn, bloodied knuckles, and chuckled
mirthlessly. "Fuck."
Leaning back against his stalwart punching-bag, he let out a
self-deprecating laugh. "Fuck."
About a thousand and a half kilometres away, an ebon-black
dome engulfed a small North-Dakotan city. News crews arrived and
recorded it steadfastedly; scientists observed it worriedly.
Inside, something momentous occurred...
Dave looked at the bottle in his hand. He smiled at it. Good
thing he'd thought to bring it, stashed away in his inside pocket. Lucky,
too, that it hadn't been smashed when he'd rammed that tree. He
realised belatedly that it had probably been a rather silly thing to do.
He giggled, and looked into the empty bottle. Let's see..., he
calculated, this was half a mickey of vodka... I had a couple of beer
before leaving... ummm... those shots Rick was handing out... ahhh...
He shrugged. Ah, hell, who cares... I'm drunk.
He staggered unsteadily to his feet, suddenly realising his butt
was wet and cold. He brushed off the snow stuck to his jeans and zig-
zagged his way in a random direction, bottle still held loosely in one
hand, the letter still clenched in the other. He blinked in surprise when
he suddenly found himself standing before the yet-unfrozen river that
flowed by the park.
He paused to contemplate the dark eddies and swirls. He felt...
a moment... coming upon him. He felt, poetic, or something. Like this
was something important, one of Joyce's epiphanies, or something.
Dave looked at the letter, then at the bottle. A decision was made. He
stuffed the paper through the glass's narrow neck, then drew his arm
back.
He paused. A moment like this needs just the right words, he
thought. I'm an English major... I'm sure _somebody_ said something
cool for a moment like this. He racked his mind.
"I wand... ah, no." he muttered. "We are but... no. Ummm...
Now could I... shit. No. What am... damn." He screwed his eyes shut
in drunken though. "Ah, fuck it." he finally said.
He threw the bottle - and it's contents - with all his strength,
and yelled, at the top of his lungs: "WHO THE FUCK AM I?"
The countdown ended. The new millennia began. Champaign
bottles the world over popped, and bubbly drink frothed forth. Ottawa
saw it's Peace Tower uncovered with scaffolding for the first time in
nearly a decade. People hugged and cried and cheered and wept in
joy.
An ebon dome in Hardpoint, North Dakota, collapsed. The city
imploded upon itself. Something momentous was released. The world
changed...
The bottle hit the water and was swallowed with a wet slurp.
Dave, unbalanced by the drunken throw, fell over. He collapsed on the
icy edge of the river; the thin surface broke, and his hands plunged
through and into the cold water, the palms catching and scraping
against the stones beneath. With a curse he drew back from the icy
waters, stood, turned away from the river, and staggered home.
Throughout the world, people of all types suddenly felt tired,
ill, oddly uncomfortable in their own skin. A boy called Eric Clay in
Winnipeg suddenly felt an unbearable itchiness overtake him; a girl
called Jennifer in that same city was suddenly hit by the worst set of
cramps she could ever recalled - and she'd just _finished_ her period!
A middle-aged man in Toronto shivered as a deep chill overtook him,
while a young girl sitting in her residence room absently rubbed her
arm as she began to tingle.
Dave drunkenly jabbed the elevator button with one finger, and
leaned heavily against the wall as the doors shut. With a jerk, he
began his ascent to the fourteenth floor.
On the third floor, the elevator paused to let another passenger
on - a rather cute girl (or so the alcohol led him to believe) that he
didn't recognize. She unconsciously rubbed at her arms while looking
at him curiously.
"What?" he slurred, suddenly feeling defensive beneath her
gaze.
"Are you... feeling alright?" she asked, leaning against the
opposite wall. "You look kinda rough."
"Fine. I feel... fine." he muttered, but realised that he _didn't_
feel fine. Maybe it was the adrenaline draining away, or the fact that
he'd stopped moving, but the alcohol suddenly seemed to slam into
him, and he felt uncomfortably warm beneath his jacket. He
awkwardly threw his coat open and tried to cool off, but his skin still
felt hot and sweaty. Dave suddenly felt weak in the legs, an
overwhelming tiredness catching up to him.
"You sure?" asked the girl, but her voice sounded far away as
Dave suddenly slumped to the floor. The girl took a concerned step
forward when his stomach suddenly lurched to once side and he
pitched forward, spewing forth an acrid stream of bile. The girl
hopped back in disgust as the vomit splashed against the wall and
pooled in a corner.
Wiping one hand across his mouth, Dave tried a smile at her.
"Ye... yeah. Now, anyway." he said. He extended his hand - the one
he'd just used to wipe his mouth - towards her. "David King... nice 'ta
meet ya. Shake?"
Dave noticed that she looked in disgust at his hand, but didn't
care. Instead, he closed his eyes, laying his head against the wall of
the elevator. Between the queasiness in his stomach, the heat in his
flesh, and the lethargy in his bones, sleep seemed like such a _good_
idea - and the wall really wasn't all _that_ uncomfortable. He last
remembered seeing a rather disapproving look on the unknown girl's
face before everything went black.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** ***
INTERNAL VIEW - DAVE:
I awoke, feeling vaguely confused. Where was I? Fleeting
memories skitted across my mind. There was... the park. Yes, that
was fairly clear. Screaming and yelling and ramming pointlessly
against a tree. I flushed a bit in embarrassment at the memory. Pretty
silly. Then the full realisation of _why_ I'd been so upset - the
unsigned letter saying I was adopted, the confirmation by my parent -
hit me, and some of that anger, accompanied by depression, returned.
Then... brief flashes of the walk home. Hurling a bottle into the
river. No, wait, that must've happened first. Then - the elevator. A
girl? Feeling like shit and passing out. I could feel a mattress beneath
me - judging by the unique configuration of lumps and soft spots, _my_
mattress - so obviously someone had dragged my sorry ass home.
Who? The girl? I'd have to thank her...
I lay there for a few more moments before realising that I felt...
odd, yet strangely... exhilarated. I _should've_ felt like shit - I
_deserved_ a hangover, considering what I'd drank last night. And,
considering how I'd felt in the elevator... but those feelings was all
gone, now.
Lifting my hand before me, I remembered smashing my fists
against the tree. My fists were fairly tough - I'd been taking martial
arts for a couple of years now - but there was a difference between
punching a bag and doing push-ups on your knuckles, and slamming
them at full drunken strength against an unyielding tree. I found it hard
to focus - my hand seemed all indistinct and blurry, like I was looking
through a fog or a veil or something. I blinked a few times - I _think_
I blinked a few times, I felt strangely numb - but my vision didn't clear.
Strange. But I flexed my hand a bit, and it felt fine... guess I _hadn't_
hurt myself against the tree after all.
A light snoring from next to me caught my attention. I threw my
legs over the edge of the bed and sat up - a difficult feat, actually, since
the strange numbness seemed to be across my whole body - and looked
back at the bed. Again that annoying fogginess blurring me vision.
What the hell? Was I still drunk? Had someone spiked my drink, or
something? Yet I _felt_ clear-headed and quite lucid... I gave my head
a shake and rubbed one heavy-feeling hand across my face and looked
again.
My vision cleared and I saw Amy, peacefully sleeping pressed
up against the wall, still wearing her clothes from last night. I
suddenly felt guilty for driving her away last night. She must've got in
late last night, and decided to crash in my bed. A very vague memory
of muttering something to her last night before passing out again
surfaced. As I stood, she spread out to take up the extra room
available on the rather small bed. Then I stumbled, my feet giving way
beneath me, balance shifting oddly to one side.
I let out a gasp of surprise... no, I _tried_ to gasp in surprise,
but nothing came out. I lashed out with one arm as I fell, heard a soggy
slap as I felt a dull, somewhat removed thud in my extremity. What the
hell was going on? I pulled myself up, looked at the hand that I'd
stopped my fall with... and screamed.
Tried to scream. Hissed. My voice rattled wetly in the back
of my throat - my throat? Something... what the hell had happened to
me? My hand... it... wasn't a hand, not anymore! It resembled...
something amorphous, a sickly-white lump of flesh swelling from a
shapeless, wet-seeming and thick tendril - my arm? My... my God!
Something vaguely resembling fingers slowly flowed from the end of
my... my arm... wiggling and bending wrongly. I watched in horrid
revulsion, wanting to wretch, suddenly realising I lacked the stomach
to do so. I stepped forward - stumbled, surged forward, my other...
arm... swinging around and slapping against the desk to catch myself;
again I watched in disbelief as, being side-by-side, the two extension
of my body that served as arms extended minuscule tendrils, twining
together and flowing together into a single mass. What... what had I
become?
With an sense of unspeakable dread, I looked up into the mirror
hanging over my desk. I screamed again - this time some inhuman
gurgle broke free, exhaling moistly from the drooping, gaping hole that
opened up in the ill-defined spherical mass that was reflected to me.
My... my head? Was that... _me_? How could I see? My face...
where a face _would_ be, if I still had a head instead of this shapeless
blob... was featureless, except for that disgustingly gaping hole that
served as my maw. In mindless disbelief, I glanced down at the rest
of my body.
Sudden, further, disorientation unbalanced me again. For an
instant - a brief moment, I was looking both forward, into the mirror,
and down, at my... body. My mind stammered at the dual vision,
before they slid together, merged, and focussed on my disgustingly
plastic form. Skin... or whatever, same-hued in whiteness as of the
underbelly of a slug, quivering and flowing slightly, shapeless, a
vaguely upright-human quality to the whole thing. To me. My body.
What was I? This... this was a nightmare. Or a bad trip or
something... somebody must've spiked my drink, or something. This...
wasn't possible... it just wasn't! A sudden revulsion tore through me -
my amoebic body literally rippled as the feeling flowed through me -
and I screamed again, the ragged hole in my head falling open again.
This time, a scream tore free, loud and clear.
"WHAT?" exclaimed Amy, shooting upright. She immediately
moaned, clutching her head and squeezing her eyes shut. "Ohhh... my
head..."
Shit! Shit! No! She... she couldn't see me like this! Like a...
freak, a monster, something totally inhuman!
"Oh, man, I feel like shit..." she muttered, pressing the palms of
her hands against her eyes. I suddenly envied her the ability to do so,
almost bitterly. "Man. Why'd you go and scream like that?"
"It... it's nothing." I said. To my surprise, I _did_ say it,
slurring the words slightly but still surprising clear.
"Dave?" she asked. "What's wrong with your voice?"
I started to answer, but the inevitable happened. She turned
towards me - she opened her eyes - her face twisted into an expression
of utter horror - she screamed in terror - I tried to flee the sound, tried
to escape her, myself, what I'd become.
And, forgetting once again that I didn't have feet, I collapsed,
glistening amorphous mass surging in the wrong direction, collapsing,
landing on Amy, covering her, smothering her screams before I could
recover...
Electric fire tore through my body.
EXTERNAL VIEW - AMY:
The horrible quivering smothering mass crushing Amy
suddenly withdrew. She opened her eyes, shuffling back and away and
trying to push herself through the wall in an attempt to put distance
between her and it. Huddled into a ball, arms wrapped around her
knees, she stared in disbelief as the... the thing, which had attacked her,
flowed back and collapsed onto the floor. It spread out in a thick
bubbling pool before her; she would've screamed again, but her throat,
her jaw and face - the places where her flesh had made contact with
the creature - felt numb and dead.
Before her disbelieving eyes, the seething mass darkened,
gained a flesh-like colouring, drew in upon itself, shrunk, formed a
distinctly-human outline. A skeletal form rose out of the surging muck;
flesh-coloured tendrils wrapped about the naked bones; out of formless
substance an oddly-recognizable body began to form. As the pool on
the floor shrunk, the humanoid shape fleshed itself out - arms
thickened, legs grew, hair crept eerily along the floor. The hips
widened; feminine breasts grew on the chest, soft features formed on
the front of the head. And within minutes, a naked, breathing, and
unmistakably human young woman was lying on the residence-room
floor. She shuddered slightly, once; the eyes snapped open; she sat up,
blinking in surprise.
Amy tried to scream again as the exact image of herself rose
from the ground and stood unsteadily before her. Her scream failed to
escape her frozen lips. It didn't have to. Her doppelganger let loose
with a scream of its own when it glanced down at itself.
EXTERNAL VIEW - MITCH
Mitch stared at the little portable TV in Stacy and Michelle's
room with a growing sense of disbelief, hangover momentarily
forgotten. The two girls were equally mute, present activity
abandoned, as the announcer delivered his message.
"This was the sight yesterday at Hardpoint, North Dakota,
USA..." stated the voice-over as the image shifted to a grainy, bouncy
recording. "... as captured by a passerby on his camcorder." Small
writing in the bottom right corner of the screen counted off the time:
23:58, 31/12/99. On the screen, an immense dome of utter blackness
sat impassively over a small town, seeming to ripple occasionally.
>From the camera's vantage point, obviously fairly removed from the
immediate site, diminutive figures could be seen scurrying near the
outer extremities of the half-sphere, possibly monitoring or analysing
the unknown object.
And then, a moment later, the dome vanished. The people near
the site were sucked into the air by the sudden vacuum left by the
disappearance. "Holy mother...!" cried the individual holding the
camera, as gusts of wind howled by and threw dust in the air.
"The vacuum caused by the disappearance of the unknown
dome caused the small city of Hardpoint to implode upon itself. It is
unknown how many casualties were caused by the incident; however,
it is known that a large percentage of Hardpoint's population failed to
escape the confines of the dome as it formed over them." The
announcer paused, obviously struggling to maintain his impassivity.
"There were over 4000 people living in Hardpoint. Few are believed
to have escaped."
Mitch turned to his friends. "What the hell do you think
happened down there?"
Stacy shrugged. "I dunno. Military experiment?" Michelle
shushed them as the announcer continued.
"The disappearance of the strange dome seemed to have
effected more than just the population of Hardpoint. At the precise
moment that it vanished, people across the world reported vague
feelings of illness, discomfort, and fatigue."
Mitch gave a small laugh. "Go figure. New Year's Eve of the
new millennium. Yeah, you can say I was feeling a little ill!"
Stacy hugged herself, slowly sitting down on her bed. "I... I
didn't feel too good last night, either, guys. Right before midnight I..."
she said, trying to get her friend's attention. She stopped when she
realised that her friends' eyes were still glued to the TV.
"Within hours, reports started to come in of individuals being
oddly... affected,... possibly by the event. The most obvious were
those who awoke to discover themselves physically transformed,
sometimes quite radically. Others seemed to shift between their
normal bodies and their transformed states, while others exhibited
minor enhanced attributes or talents. Scientists the world round are
baffled. But it has become obvious that the largest concentration of
affected people are in the immediate region surrounding Hardpoint,
although cases have been reported as far as Japan, China, and
Australia."
"Holy Shit!" muttered Mitch, as the TV began showing some of
the already documented cases. "This is... impossible, right? A joke
or something, like War of the Worlds or something."
"But it's on CNN... They can't do that, can they?"
Then a scream rang out, female and from next door.
"That sounded like Amy!" exclaimed Mitch, leaping to his feet.
He ran out the door, Michelle watching after him. Stacy nervously
started to look herself over.
INTERNAL VIEW - DAVE:
What the _fuck_ was happening?
FIrst I woke up looking like some kind of Lovecraftian blob -
now I look like my fucking girlfriend! My girlfriend, who was curently
curled up into a ball on my bed, white as a proverbial ghost, eyes
unnaturaly wide. Taking a step towards her, I raised my hands
placatingly.
"Amy... calm down... it's me, Dave." I tried to be reasurring,
but the sound of my own voice destroyed any confidence I had. It was
clearly Amy's - or, at least, what I assume Amy's voice would sound
like from inside her own skull. She whimpered pathetically as I
stepped closer.
Just then the door banged open. Mitch stepped into the room.
"What's going...!" he exclaimed, then blushed, catching sight of
my naked body. "Shit! Jesus, sorry, Amy!" he said, turning away (a
little slowly, I thought) - at which point he saw Amy on my bed, and
froze, jaw dropping in incomprehension.
He looked back and forth between us, stunned. I took
advantage of the moment to step past him and close the door. "Listen,
Mitch, it's me... Dave." I said, stepping back.
"What?"
"I... I don't know how to explain it. Something... happened...
when I woke up. I was... changed. Then I tripped and fell on Amy.
Everything went black for a moment - and when I woke up, I looked
like... like her! Like this!" I glanced down at myself again, and I still
couldn't believe it. I _did_ look like her! I was now... my own
girlfriend? Female? Fuuuuuck...
The realisation finally caught up to me, and I slumped to the
ground, unable to tear my gaze away from myself. I was... Amy?
Although, I suppose, this was better than what I'd been before. But..
how?
"I can't believe it..." whispered Mitch, falling back against the
door. "It... it's really real. That Hardpoint thing..."
I looked up. "What?"
"Hardpoint. North Dakota. It was just on the news.
Something..." he started, turning to me. Then he stopped. "Listen... ah,
Dave... would you mind, you know, covering yourself?"
I blushed and pulled the sheets off of Mitch's bed behind me
and awkwardly wrapped myself in them. Across the room, Amy sat
up, seeming less terrified but still silent, rubbing her jaw. Mitch
looked between the two of us, sighed, and continued. "There was... an
accident, or something, down in the States. Something blew up, or
imploded, I'm not sure. But it... affected people, somehow. People
across the world got... sick, at around midnight, and woke up...
changed. Some more than others." He turned his attention to me.
"And if you're really my roommate... then obviously you're in the
'more' category."
"Trust me... I'm your roommate." I muttered, struggling to my
feet. I took a few awkward steps towards my girlfriend, stumbling
slightly at first.
"Hey, you ok?" asked Mitch, stepping forward.
"Yeah... just... feel strange. Hips feel... funny."
"Man, this is too weird!" muttered my roommate. "I gotta get
the girls..."
"NO!" I cried. "No, don't! I don't want anyone to know about
this. Not... not yet. Not till I figure out what's going on."
Mitch nodded. Turning away, I kneeled before Amy.
"You... you ok?" I asked softly, reaching towards her.
She nodded mutely, a few tears creeping from her eyes. She
tried to speak, the corner of her mouth opening slightly, making a sad
slurping sound. A dribble of drool ran down her chin. What was
wrong with her?
I reached up and dabbed at her face. She flinched away,
momentarily, from my touch, then relaxed as I softly brushed a tear
away. There was a brief tingling as fingertip met cheek; a sensation
like a mild electric current ran through me; and then the feeling was
gone, and I drew away. Amy's eyes widened. She experimentally
moved her jaw, and it now seemed fine.
"Da... Dave? It that really you?" she asked, one hand
tentatively reaching up to touch my face. I clasped her hand in mine,
feeling reassured by her touch.
"Yeah, I think so." I answered. "I... I'm sorry I scared you. I
didn't mean to."
"What was that... thing? That blob? That... turned into you?"
"That was... me, I think. I'm not sure. That's what I looked like
when I woke up." I shook my head at the memory. "Believe me, I was
as scared as you. More so." Looking down at myself, I added:
"Compared to that... I guess this really ain't so bad..."
"Hey!" she exclaimed, starting to smile ever so slightly.
"That's my body you're talkin' about! You've never had a problem with
it before!"
"Yeah," I muttered, "But that's 'cus I always had my _own_."
I fell back on my rump with a sigh. What was I going to do? She was
right, of course - it's not like Amy's body was a _bad_ one... but it
wasn't _my_ body, it was a woman's body, and I just wanted to be
_myself_ again!
"You know," said Mitch, stepping forward, "It might only be
temporary..."
I looked up at him. "What?"
"Well, they guy on the news said that, while some people
seemed physically changed, others only 'shifted' between their normal
bodies and their changed one. Maybe... this is only your 'changed'
body?"
"What, this freak accident turned me into my girlfriend? Why?"
"I dunno." he said, shrugging. "Maybe it responded to some
unconscious desire of yours..."
"Hey!"
He smiled. "Just kidding. Or maybe... I don't know... maybe
you're like a werewolf or something... you turn into the nearest thing to
you when you wake up."
"That's not a werewolf, numbskull", I muttered, but what he
said gave me a little hope. Maybe... maybe this was just temporary.
I don't think I could've lived the rest of my life as Amy, or as her twin
sister, or whatever. What would I tell the school? My friends? My...
parents... Oh, yeah, I don't have parents anymore. With a despondent
sigh I tried standing up.
I suddenly realised how weak I felt. Hungry, too. I reached
towards Mitch with one hand. "Hey, buddy," I said, "Mind giving me
a hand, here? I don't feel so hot..."
"Yeah, sure." He grabbed my hand and hauled me to my feet.
"Shit, Dave, you're awfully heavy for your size, you know!" he
exclaimed, stepping back. I hardly heard him. When he had touched
me... that feeling... that hot flash through my body, like when I'd first
touched Amy... an instinct arose within, like a half-remembered
memory I couldn't quite grasp.
"Mitch... give me back your hand!" I said.
"What?"
"Just do it!"
He shrugged, but looked a little nervous, extending his arm as
if to shake hands. I grasped it sturdily with my own. Again, that
tingling, a warmth spreading up my arm and across my body. I
focussed on it, tried to... I don't know, _do_ something with it.
"Holy shit!" cried Mitch. I stepped back in surprise, and
suddenly felt exhausted... well, more so, that is.
"What?" I asked wearily.
"Your... your skin! It looked like it was... melting, or
something! Like you were... changing, or something."
Like I was changing. Changing. Strange. But now, I felt like
I had an idea of what might be going on here... but obviously, I was too
tired to do it. I needed some rest. Some food. And I needed to go to
the bathroom - something I wasn't looking forward to trying.
EXTERNAL VIEW - DAVE:
A few hours later, Dave and Amy sat at opposite ends of the
room, she on his bed, he on Mitch's. Dave realised he felt a _lot_
better - obviously a few hours of rest and some food made a world of
difference. That same feeling of exhilaration he'd felt upon awakening
that morning had returned. A few people had called - even his
'parents', though he'd refused to talk to them - but it seemed that
everyone now knew about the strange event down south. He'd even
heard that someone a few floors down had exhibited some strange
abilities.
He watched his girlfriend, who stared back at him curiously.
"What you looking at?" he asked.
"Myself, obviously." she answered, smiling. "It's kinda weird,
really. Kinda like having a twin sister, or something."
"Yeah? Well just remember I'm really your boyfriend before
you start trying to play dress-up with me or something, got it?"
"Hey, I hadn't thought of that!" She smirked. "I got some spare
clothes here if you're interested..."
"Very funny..." he muttered. His own clothes were a little
baggy, but they'd do for now - especially if his assumption was
correct. He hoped it was. It _had_ to be. Or else he might be stuck
like this...
There was a knock on the door, and a moment later Mitch
stepped in. "Alright, I'm back."
"Where were you?"
"Downstairs. Checking out the rumour about this girl. Turns
out she _did_ change. Although she's only the second type - she can
only hold it for about an hour before needing rest. But when she
changes... wow! I'm not sure if I've ever seen someone that good
looking before in the flesh!" He smiled. "And she could give you the
greatest... sensations... just with a touch." He seemed to blush at the
memory. "Very... intense. I wonder if you can do anything like that."
Dave extended his hand. "We're about the find out, aren't we?"
Mitch reached up. They touched.
Again, ecstatic pain tore through Dave's body. He staggered
back as his mind reeled beneath the rush, but this time he struggled to
remain conscious. He could _feel_ the change overcoming him, the
flesh and bones and sinew turn mutable and elastic, flow eerily and
reshape itself.
Mitch and Amy gasped as their friend fell onto all fours. For
a few brief moments, the extremities seemed to swell and collapse into
a single mass; the facial features sank and dissapeared into the
swirling skin; the obviously feminine contours faded. And then,
slowly, over the period of a few minutes, the humanoid mass reshaped
itself, filled out, became masculine, and turned into... an exact
duplicate of Mitch.
"Oh, wow..." breathed Mitch, watching as his exact duplicate
slowly rose to its feet. "Dave... you... you're me!"
"Not exactly." answered the new Dave, shifting his clothes,
staggering slightly. "I don't weigh quite as much as you... I don't have
that filling you got last year... but, yeah, it's pretty damn close." He
smiled, and though the face was Mitch's, the expression was distinctly
Dave's. "Guess we know what my 'special ability' is now, eh?"
"How... how do you feel?" asked Amy.
"Fine. Great!" He patted himself down, taking a moment to
pull open his pants and have a glance inside. He looked up grinning.
"And it's nice to have _those_ again." Noticing Mitch's frown, he
hastened to add: "Ahhh, you know what I mean. Nice to be a guy
again." He turned back to Amy. "The change also went better than last
time. It felt... easier. I'm not as exhausted. I think I could even do it
again, if I pushed myself."
"Well, it went faster this time."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Last time took a little over five minutes. This time was
a little under."
"Really? Great!" exclaimed Dave. "You know, maybe this
ain't so bad after all..."
"Maybe not..." said Mitch. "...but you can't stay that way. I
don't have a brother, remember? And you can't exactly take over my
life, you know."
"I could always kill you and absorb the body." said Dave
ominously, stepping towards his roommate. Mitch stepped nervously
back.
"Hey, that's not funny, man..."
The shape-shifter gave a little chuckle. "Sorry. Couldn't help
it. But, yeah, I guess I can't stay like this."
"Do you... do you think you can change back into your own
body?" asked Amy.
That brought Dave up short, and he suddenly felt the earlier
insecurities return. "I... I don't know! I... I seem to change into
whoever I've touched... but... but I can't _touch_ myself. I... I don't
know!"
"Well, bud, there's only one way to find out..."
Dave nodded. And there was no time like the present to try.
GWEN'S VIEW:
"Listen, guys, please, I need some rest!" cried the young girl.
She shimmered slightly, turning into a rather cute, though not
exceptional, young woman of about twenty.
A general mumble of disappointment went through the small
gathering, both male and female. They shuffled out of the room as she
insisted they leave. When they were finally all gone, she shut and
locked the door and collapsed on her bed with an exhausted sigh.
"What've you gotten yourself into, Gwen?" she asked herself.
"Sure, the attention's cool... but all they want is for you to touch 'em
and make 'em 'feel good'." She snorted. And I just know that they think
I'm some kind of freak, she thought. Oh, sure, they might think what I
can do is _neat_, but they _still_ think I'm different - hell, they didn't
even bother to get out of my hearing before talking behind my back.
She realized belatedly that about twenty feet down the hall _should_
have been far enough away to ensure confidentiality - but, still, it
wasn't _her_ fault that her hearing had improved dramatically as well.
What I need to do, Gwen thought, is get some rest. And then,
test the limits of these skills, see what I can do with them. They've got
to do more than make people feel orgasmic or whatever it is they feel.
And then... maybe track down someone in a similar situation as her,
someone who'd also been 'changed' by that thing down in the States.
Her thoughts drifted back to last night, when the weird tingling
sensation had first permeated her skin. That guy in the elevator - he'd
been sick, too, and while he'd been drunk, it seemed like something
much more than mere alcohol. What was his name? Dave. Could he
have been effected as well? She knew where he lived - after all, she'd
dragged his butt back to his room - and, if he _had_ changed, it'd be
nice to find someone else like her. Maybe after a little nap she'd go up
to meet him. Maybe even... touch him...
INTERIOR VIEW - DAVE:
I carefully looked myself over in the mirror. My face - _my_
face, the one I'd had when I'd got out of bed yesterday - looked back.
For the first time since this morning I could feel myself relaxing. It
was an immense relief to discover I could still return to normal.
I'd been worried at first. I didn't even know how to initiate the
change without actually touching someone. Touching Amy and Mitch
again to get the process started didn't work - it seemed that, having
touched them and mimicked them once already, that doing so wouldn't
be sufficient. So instead I had simply relaxed, concentrated, and tried
to coax my flesh to, well, melt. At first I had felt strange, and
pressured, especially with my friends hovering around. After throwing
them out of the room, I was finally able to focus properly.
I don't know how long it took - somewhere between five to
fifteen minutes - but I finally reached some kind of threshold; one
moment, I was a cohesive whole, the next, my body just seemed to
collapse and fall in upon itself. I quickly reverted to that amorphous
state I'd been in this morning; bones melted, muscles broke apart,
tendons and tissue merged. The whole process gave me the willies,
but I ignored it and tried to reshape myself into my own image. It was
a long process, at first. Fingers would keep falling off, or a nose
would disintegrate, or an entire limb would get sucked back in.
Finally, nearly ready to give in, I simply relaxed, holding a picture of
myself in my mind. I didn't even focus on the details - just on myself,
on who and what I was, a general impression of what I looked like.
Before I knew it, my body was rebuilding itself; within minutes, I was
whole.
After a quick check to make sure everything was where it ought
to be, I got dressed, let out a whoop of joy, and ran around the floor a
couple of times giggling with glee. I attracted a few stares, but
everyone was the still a bit hung-over, and also stunned by the
continuous news reports, so no one particularly paid me much
attention.
That'd been about half an hour ago - now, I was getting ready
to take a nap, exhausted once more. Tomorrow I could figure out what
do about this strange ability, and maybe try and test its limits, but, for
now, I just wanted some sleep. I'd shifted - that's what I called it, for
want of a better word - three times today, first into Amy, then Mitch,
and finally, back to myself (although I wasn't sure if returning to my
natural body actually constituted a shift), and the whole process was
extremely draining. Mitch was next door, Amy had left, it was the
perfect chance to get a few hours of shut-eye.
Of course, considering I was living in residence, hoping to get
some peace and quiet before eleven o'clock was really rather stupid.
A few minutes after closing my eyes, just as I started to gleefully
balance on that narrow threshold between awake and sleep, someone
knocked.
[unfinished... sorry!]
***
BTW, anybody got a good name for the character? Mine were pretty
lame - Shifter, or something. Somebody suggested Proteus, which fits
nicely. Anybody else?
Later!
-Mike Noakes
***
Notes:
Jan 1st - Start
Jan 12th - 1st jump
Feb 2nd - 2nd jump (Groundhog day?)
March 13th - 3rd jump (Ides of March?)
Power:
Start - Shape-shift. Slow and exhausting. Needs physical touch to
trigger the start (except for his base form). Standard physical
boost. Can't copy Points - more powerful the original, more
painful the backlash if he tries. Also tends to start changing (if
he's rested) upon touching someone unless he actively resists.
Minor augmented abilities - quick healing, etc, and physical
reaction to emotions.
Boost - Shifting is easier, quicker - no need of a trigger, and can
recall the last 4-5 people he's touched. Can manage it multiple
times a day, though a few in quick succession will likely knock
him out. More exact copy - certain instinctive traits, like walk
and twitches - are duplicated. Can copy points - rather
painful, though those who didn't boost are less so (copying a
2nd grants the enhanced form). When in a Point form, can't
access own innate abilities. Easy to resist change with
normals (except under stressful situations), but Points require
active control. In normal/own form, quicker regeneration,
larger physical change resulting from emotional reactions.
Boost - Normal shifting is easy, and quick. Remembers a large
backlog of people he's been. Still tiring to make many, many
changes in quick succession. Duplication is physically
identical - but genetically based (no fillings, pregnancy, hair
dyes, etc...); can make minor alterations to form (hair, eyes,
etc...), as well as emotional changes he's undergone in the
past. Duplicating a 1st is easy, and actually enhances their
power, and limits (but doesn't block) his own power. A 2nd is
unpleasant, copies the enhanced form, and gains their power,
enhancing it slightly - while losing his own. A 3rd is painful,
and copies it, though occasionally imperfectly or not in its
entirety; again, his own innate abilities are blocked. When 4thshow up, duplicating one boosts him above his own 3rdlimitations - but the power boosts is excruciating and mental
agony is similar to what Gods underwent on their original final
boost. Easy to resist changes with normals, ones, and twos.
Threes require active resistance. Fourths are extremely
difficult to stop. Physical changes due to emotions (which are
enhanced themselves due to the change) are quite major, and
require difficult focus to hold back. Rather potent physical
boosting in natural state - resistant to damage, quick healing,
though little in the way of offensive abilities.