[i]He tries to speak, scream, say something to them but nothing comes out of his mouth. No words. No sound. They don’t speak as well but he can feel their intent. Their intent to experiment. Their intent to prod at him like a subject. Their intent to explore beyond what is sacred. He remembers the word, metamorphosis. Change in form. Only this time, he’s the caterpillar. His body moves against his own will. Forced, violated, vivisected. Something seeps inside his torso and everything begins to burn like he’s standing inside the sun. His organs are pulled out of his body one by one, brain, spine, stomach, liver and intestines only to be reassembled once again like a puzzle piece, his own heart thudding and beating in front of him, every molecule and cell in his body reorganizing themselves, flesh rending apart, mind tearing at the seams, his soul - [/i] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Arnold Newell, now legally known as Barney Sanchez, awakened blearily to find himself on the bottom of his bedroom floor, blanket coiled around his shoulder protectively. His three hearts skipped a beat once he became more aware of his surroundings, groaning in a half-baked mixture of fatigue and annoyance. Hopefully, the neighbours wouldn’t make any noise complaints. It’d been the third time it happened this month and already, he was starting to grow sick of it. Funny, really. His body could adapt to almost anything but it couldn’t adapt against dreams. Well, it was nothing that a quick shower couldn’t fix. Arnold walked towards the bathroom in a straight bee-line, closing and locking the door with a snap. Scalding water sprays over his back, cleansing away ache as his ears tune in on the multiple radios and televisions coming back to life in the early morning. “ - “ Man, I ain’t fooling y’all. I saw her flaming, winging and knocking out those robbers like they were pinatas- “ “ NYU has declined any official relationship between the power outages in late February last year and the recent reports of the vigilante, Tensor - “ “ - Mayor Stephen’s campaign fundraiser expects to be - “ The doors of the stall opened, fog rolling out to disguise his body as he made his way towards the sink. He rubbed away the mist that clung in beads and crawled up like mites on the mirror’s surface. A reflection stared at him with curiosity from the other side, as if he was a total stranger. Barney was bugged by its gaze as he went through the motions of a daily morning routine. He didn’t bother to think about how his own puritanical immune system had completely removed the need for oral hygiene. Or basic hygiene at all for that matter. Dropping his toothbrush on the counter, he reaches for the white flaked towel behind him to dry himself with, smothering his face as if wanting to deprive himself of oxygen. His knuckles turn white as he continues to stare at his own form in the mirror. His glasgow smile that conceals row upon row of razor sharp teeth. His fractured irises that he took great effort to disguise. The nascent bony protrusions that arise in bumps against his ribs and shoulders. It’s like meeting a new person everyday. He escapes back into the shower stall to wash himself again, the mirror steaming over and hiding reality away from him. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “ I can’t believe you declined my invitation to go to the fundraiser, Barney. I had a spot specifically reserved for you.” Arnold signed as he walked out of an shabby grocery store carrying an armful of paper brown bags that had been stuffed in the crook of his left elbow towards the parking lot. Living on the most upper-north side of the Hudson River near Albany was a chore for him but it was necessary. He couldn’t stand the risks of walking on streets everyday where huge bustling crowds crossed and migrated from block to block like a herd of cows. Public transport was a big no as well. Unfortunately, that meant he had to cross over from Albany to the east side of the Hudson every weekend to get groceries. One of the new changes that he had to adapt to was his body’s rigorous metabolic needs. Pounds upon pounds of protein were needed to supplement his bodies new adaptations. Of course, his dietary needs were met on demand by Professor Simmons who he was currently conversing with. “ I don’t think I’m the type of person to enjoy caviar and foie gras in Broadway Avenue.” There was an audible verbal tic on the other side of the phone, a hybrid of a groan and a sign. “ Please spare me your condescension, Barney. I’m trying to get you back into society.” “ I’m grateful for that, Professor, but I’m busy right now -,” he just managed to get the last of the groceries inside his miniscule car boot before the Professor began to mutter out a string of anger and frustration. “ With what? Building the world’s largest greenhouse? Doing home improvement projects? Applying for membership at gardening clubs?” He caught his breath before continuing on. “ When you contacted me all those years ago about a cure - “ “ You said you would still be working on it.” Arnold said, entering the front of the car and locking the door, his fingers grasped tightly around the handle. “ I’m not going to beat around the bush, Barney when I say this. A cure is impossible, and any other cures are highly experimental and may be dangerous to your own health and being- “ He turned the key on the ignition, the old Ford heart sputtering and hissing like a coughing man. “ Whatever it is, I can handle it.” “ You can’t just - “ He suddenly paused on the phone. “ What in the goddamn hell-” The sound of crackling gunfire erupted in the background along with a cacophony of screams. Barney held the phone close, jumbled bits of the Professor’s voice reaching him. “ Professor, what’s happening?” “ Can’t - Talking right now - Lay - SHUT THE FUCK UP! - Oh cra - “ “ Professor? Professor!” The line became dead and Barney laid back in the seat of his car, one hand on the steering wheel trying to process the situation. He shook his head and turned on the ignition, reversing the car out of the lot and into the driveway. It wasn’t his responsibility. The police could handle it. Being a vigilante wasn’t going to help the situation at hand. Exposing himself ran the risk of being captured and would ultiamtely do more long-term harm than doing nothing at all. Doing nothing was his best shot at survival. Someone else would come along. But Aldrich was his friend. A confidant that he’d trusted with his secrets. What was he afraid of? Dying? He couldn’t die. No, he was afraid of having publicity whilst Aldrich was afraid for his life. His fingers pressed deeper into the steering wheel while he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. What to do? What to do? “ This is New York Daily News, reporting live. There have been reported gunshots at the Marriot Marquis Hotel, where currently 50 hostages, including Mayor Lewis Stephens, are being held by a group of heavily armed individuals. No official police statement has come out yet regarding the intent of these - “ His eyes hardened with a steely expression before he began to turn towards Broadway Avenue, police cars and multiple SWAT vans passing by his own vehicle towards the hotel. He opened the front compartment of the car and shifted the car into forward gear, busily tying a bandana around his mouth his mouth to conceal himself whilst keeping an eye on the road ahead. Just what was he getting himself into?