[center][img=http://i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo63/NMShape/coollogo_com-14706267_zps64516cfe.png][/center]
[center][b]Aubrey Adkins[/b][/center]
My powers have been nothing but trouble for me. Look where they have taken me! I’m tied up to a chair (or rather chained up, since, I assume, my captors did not want to take any chances with me breaking out of ropes or zip-ties), with enough anesthesia to knock out an elephant being pumped into me, just to make sure my already weakened powers would not be useful at all. I just hope the police or the FBI or whoever took my call were able to locate this place. I don’t want to know what would happen otherwise.

Then a woman entered into the room. She walked over to a table that was placed against one of the sides of the room and booted up the computer that rested atop of that table. After a few moments, she finally spoke, her voice revealing that she was at least part Eastern European.

“Ready?”

“Go to hell.” I said. In hindsight, I was not in the position to throw insults and use such fighting words. But I was under the influence of the heat of the moment. What did you expect me to say?

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the customers.”

“Customers?” I asked, “Are you going to sell me like a slave?”

“No one will own you, technically,” she replied, “but you might wish that you were one when you learn what you are about to undergo.”

What the hell was she talking about? What the hell is happening? What type of freak show did I land myself in? Why is this always happening to me? What the hell are they going to do to me? Whatever, I don’t want to know. And the police are on their way (I hope). My healing factor should get me through this, shouldn’t it (as long as it is still working)?

As I was thinking these questions, the woman had already came up to me and placed her hands upon my face.

“Don’t worry, I’m killing two birds with one stone. I’m satisfying their needs,” she pointed toward the a video camera that was recording everything that was happening, “and I’m going to make it so that you will fill out that costume, or at least for the short amount of time you will have left alive.”

Suddenly, I felt pain so great that it was as if the very atoms that made up my body were being rearranged. This excruciating pain continued until the woman pulled her hands off my face. Even with my healing factor, I could already feel that I was starting to lose consciousness due to the fatigue of the experience.

When I peeled open my eyes, I saw black locks of hair before my eyes. That can’t be my hair. I’m a blonde!

“What the hell did you do to me?” I said. However, I did not heard my own voice come from my mouth. “Why do I have a freaking British accent?”

“Since you’re wearing a spider-themed costume, I thought it was apt to start out with Jessica Drew, a.k.a. the Spider-Woman.”

The woman pulled a mirror before me, allowing to see my whole reflection. Instead of seeing myself, I saw a real-life version of this comic super-heroine. And when I mean real-life version, I mean that the image I saw looked almost exactly like what this character would look like if someone had directly pulled her out of a comic book, anatomical impossibilities and all.

Due to the shock of what I saw in the mirror, I could not say anything. And even if I could have said anything, that woman would have already placed her hands on me for a second round of ‘extreme make-over’.

“Or maybe you would look better as Julia Carpenter, or Mayday Parker, or maybe even her mother, Mary Jane Watson-Parker? And don’t worry, we don’t have to limit this to spider-themed super-heroines, or even super heroes in general. I can make you look like anyone, fictional or real.”

And three times again I endured the pain that went along with this woman’s “extreme make-over”. And with each subsequent change, I felt myself slip further and further into unconsciousness.

“I can’t lie. You look better as a red-head,” she told me after she had lifted her hands away from my face.

“What makes you do this?” I could barely utter these words due to my fatigue, “Do you get some weird adrenaline rush? Or is it some type of fetish?” I had to take a deep breath in order to finish. “Either way, you’re a sick creep.”

“There’s a simpler, five-lettered answer. [b]Money[/b]. As an adolescent, I was so confused. Abandoned by my parents as an infant, the manifestation of these powers. I tried to do right by using these powers to help others look better. And what did I receive in return? I was labeled a ‘witch’ and chased out of the town when some overprotective fathers and mothers incited a lynching mob after they found out that I had ‘enhanced’ their little ‘princesses’. So now, I use my powers to benefit the one important person in my life, me.”

“You’re just as bad as those creeps who consume your shit.” I retorted, struggling with every single word, “You’re just enabling them, which makes you just as bad.”

The woman seemed to have be unfazed by my comments, as she just smiled back at me.

“Don’t worry, MJ,” she said, obviously mocking my appearance, which she gave me, “We’re going to have a marvelous night trying out new looks for you.” She walked up to me and picked up the crucifix that was hanging around my neck on a necklace. “And by the look of things, Playboy might be in your immediate future.”

After she spoke, she again placed her hands on my face and the pain returned as the atoms in my body started to shift again.

Could I please go back to Lost Haven? I would so much rather be fighting demons than go through this, whatever this is.