[center][img=http://i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo63/NMShape/coollogo_com-14706267_zps64516cfe.png][/center]
[center][b]Aubrey Adkins[/b][/center]
I finally opened my eyes after I had been knocked out after another session of ‘extreme make-over’. After quickly scanning the room from where I laid, I concluded that no one else was left in this god-forsaken room. Still a little groggy from the effects of having your atoms being rearranged, I slowly picked myself off the ground.

Then I remembered what that woman said before I lost consciousness: [b]“I’ll show you the true meaning of objectification”[/b]. As I peered around the room, I forced myself not to look down; I didn’t want to see what I had become because of that sick woman’s mind. However, that plan of action was rendered obsolete when I looked into the reflection given off by the free-standing mirror which that crazy woman used to show me how she had transformed me.

OH. GOD. That can’t be my reflection. It can’t be. This has to be a twisted dream.

I closed my eyes and pinched my arm, hoping that this would make me up from this ‘dream’. When I reopened my eyes, that same reflection still stared back at me, to my disappointment. Heck, I knew that this nightmare was real even before I gazed into the mirror for the second time because I had to pull reddish-orange hair away from my face.

I stepped closer to the mirror in order to get a better look at how that woman defiled my body. How in the world is my body functioning when it’s so outrageously disproportional? How is my waist not snapping in two? Heck, I would bet that my current waist would have troubles supporting someone who is otherwise regularly proportioned. And how is my back not straining under the weight of my new, um, assets? 50 bucks that my healing factor is saving the day. Well, if that woman was intending to transform me into some sort of sex slave or whatever, she got my body right. At least she didn’t change my personality to match my body.

I then took a firm grip of the mirror and hurled it towards the wall on my left, causing glass shards to scatter as the mirror collided with the wall. Of course destroying the mirror wouldn’t change the reality of my current appearance, but I needed to do something to blow off steam. And to be honest, throwing that mirror actually made me feel a little bit better.

Crap. And I’m not talking about the bad luck that is supposed to follow from breaking a mirror. Heck, considering my luck, what else could go wrong? What I was really worried about was that breaking that mirror created a loud crash. If the police had finally arrived, they might stumble upon my, fully clad in my super-hero attire. While I was not worried about them discovering my identity from looking at me because I did not look anything at all like myself, I was actually worried about explaining where Aubrey Adkins went, since it was Aubrey Adkins who called the police.

At the same time as my spider sense was blaring in my head, alerting me that someone was opening the door, I shot a webline at my mask that was laying on the table and yanked it back to me. And then, in one swift motion, I pressed a button on my wristband, causing my superhero tights to be replaced by my regular clothes, which now obviously did not entirely fit me properly.

Luckily, my regular clothes finished replacing my spider-themed costume right when the door opened. Into the room walked two men, who had bullet-proof vests that had ‘FBI’ plastered on the front. I would have guessed that the older of the two, who seemed to be in his mid-thirties, had an Italian heritage. The other man seemed to be closer to me in age. Both of them had their handguns drawn in their hands.

“I don’t think she’s the mastermind behind this, Mario,” the man, who was closer in age to me, said as he lowered his weapon.

“What makes you so sure, Matt?” Mario responded while he gave his colleague a puzzled look.

“I just don’t think that the person who is behind all of this would transform herself into the Sorceress from [i]Dragon’s Crown[/i].”

Mario just continued to give Matt a puzzled look. “English please, genius. Not Nerdinese”.

“Well, when the game was announced and subsequently released, there was a controversy over how women were portrayed in the game. Of all possible people and fictional characters, I think that [i]this[/i] character would be the least likely choice.” He gestured towards me to prove his point.

From what I could read from Mario’s body language, he still seemed suspicious of his colleague’s reasoning. Even I would be suspicious, since what would stop that woman from performing her ‘extreme makeover’ on herself so that she could slip out as a ‘victim’? Luckily for them (but not for me), I was actually the person who was transformed into a very physically exaggerated video game character.

“He’s right. I’m Aubrey, the girl who gave the tip where this place was located.” Gosh, I have another British accent (or a quasi-one. Something just did not sound quite right).

Now here comes the difficult part. How do I prove that I am Aubrey Adkins? My captors took all my person possessions that I had on me, so even if the FBI found my stuff, it wouldn’t prove that [b]I[/b] am Aubrey Adkins. What was I going to do?

Then one of their phones went off.

“This is Russo.” Mario answered. As the FBI agent listened to the person on the other side of the line, Mario glanced at me for a few seconds, then looked to his partner.

“What happened?” Matt asked his colleague while Mario was hanging up his cell phone.

“We found the woman behind all this.”

“Great!” I said, “That’s mean she can change me back. I don’t want to be in this body for any longer than I have to.”

“Well, that might be a problem,” Mario replied to me, a sorrowful expression appearing on his face.

“What do you mean?” I asked. What was the problem? I need to be changed back. I can’t live the rest of my life in [i]this[/i] body.

“Well,” the FBI agent began, “she tried to escape by pretending to be one of the victims. However, when one of the actual victims recognized her, she pulled out a gun. And, well, in response to this, one of our agents shot her in order to protect the other victims.”

“WHAT! SHE’S DEAD?” I sunk to the floor, weighted down by this revelation. How was I going to return to normal? This woman’s death has trapped me in this body. “This must be a mistake. I can’t be imprisoned in [i]this[/i] body!”

“Well, taking into consideration all the fan-art for that character, you’re actually lucky that your current transformation is quite modest compared to other, um, interpretations.” Matt said as he tried to console me about my current situation.

“This is modest?” Well, that sealed it. There are some crazy perverts in this world. 

But before I could heard the FBI agent’s response, I felt an immense pain roll over my body, pain that felt just like what I endured when I was undergoing the ‘extreme makeover’. But how could that be? That woman was shot down during her attempted escape. But when the pain was finally over and when I looked up, the two FBI agents had blank stares.

“What?” I asked. However, my voice no longer had a British accent. In fact, it was my normal voice! And when I grabbed a lock of my hair, I saw that it was no longer that reddish-orange color, but my natural blonde! Then I immediately asked for one of their smart phones so that I could check if my whole head was back to normal. And I had to ask for a smart phone because I kind of already smashed the mirror that was in this room.

And when I turned on the phone’s camera and held it as if I was going to take a selfie (of course I wasn’t going to take one, because it would be weird taking one on an FBI agent’s phone), I saw my normal face on the phone’s display screen. It was such a relief to see my own face, not some fictional character’s face. Unfortunately, it appeared that only my head and skin had returned to normal. Everything else had remained the same. Well, one thing at a time, right?

“Are you a metahuman?” Mario asked me.

“What? Me? Of course not! Maybe the transformations caused by that woman are only temporary.” I tried to lie my way out of this mess and I hoped that my excuse would cut it.

“We know for sure these transformations are not temporary. None of the other victims have shown the same symptoms.” Matt countered my attempt to hide the fact that I am indeed a metahuman. Now what I was supposed to do now? Continue to try to lie my way out or come out clean?

Or I could tell a half-truth. I could let them know about my healing factor, but there was no reason to reveal my spider powers.

“Okay, I’m a metahuman. I heal very quickly. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well,” Matt began to speak, placing his hand on his chin, “mattering on the nature of you healing factor, your body might be attempting to repair itself. It’s kind of similar to how DNA ligase checks and fixes mismatched amino acids. However, in your case, it seems like the margin for error is probably close to zero, if not zero exactly.”

“Is he always like this?” I asked Mario.

“You have no idea.” Mario chuckled as he answered me.