[h3]Welcome To The Jungle - Chapter 5: The Escape[/h3]

[b]Location: Earth-F67X New New York City, NYU Langone Health 550 1st Ave Manhattan[/b]


A mire of intrusive thoughts stifled Genesis' soul, smothering her in a bog of quicksand neck down. Turning blue, the pressure had her bulging bloodshot fish eyes protruding like blackheads between two fingers. She failed to as much as even whimper through the morass of guilt applying pressure to get ribcage. [i][color=fff79a]"I don't deserve to live."[/color][/i] With so many individuals persevering, tooth and nailing their way through the cesspool which was life, her meandering existence was something Genesis wanted to change. The ebb of emotions dragging her further into the abyss felt more like a riptide, leaving one logical way to escape. Going against the way destiny set out for her only caused suffering.

[i][color=fff79a]"Pitty is reserved for those who succumb to the will of others. I am stronger than that."[/color][/i]

A voice, thunderous and with conviction, echoed through the ocean, submerging her unmuffled.

[i][color=fff79a]"I did not erupt from the womb of a woman to be submissive and reimburse patriarchy. I am no calm waters. I am a force, rapids even…"[/color][/i]

The voice resonated with Genesis. Through her flooding ears, the gospel spoken was what aspired to be. Someone who could take reign over and reconstruct the woeful circumstances of her life so far. It was sweet to imagine just for a moment that she could bolster the confidence to be what her daughter needs in a mother.

Nothing prepared Genesis for what she was about to hear.

[h2][i][b][color=fff79a]"I AM YOU!"[/color][/b][/i][/h2]

Upon this epiphany, not only did Genesis bolster enough strength to swim horizontally to the current, but instead of returning to the shore, she swam further out into the sea. Nautical miles even, but now, at a leisurely pace, taking on whatever lies ahead of her.

…

Genesis awoke to the sound of chirping birds competing with the noise polluted city streets below. After opening her almond eyes, the night sky stared back at her, causing her to question why so many song sparrows hung by the window sill parallel to her hospital bed. The whim to let them in overtook her, and once doing so, several nested on her lap and shoulder tweeting up a storm in such a manner convincing enough to believe they were trying to communicate. Genesis couldn't quite articulate it, but it felt urgent. Like she had to leave immediately. But why?

Face to face with the open window in nothing but her hospital gown, a calm breeze ruffled her curlish fro. Looking down stories above the chaotic city streets, there wasn't a way down, but the birds urged her to. As crazy as it seemed, Genesis saw herself taking the leap.

[i][color=fff79a]"Ah, Cartagena, you're here. Timely as always. Seeing the patient in room 1107? Right down the hall. I wasn't aware Ms. Morant was a part of the government. When it was requested that she was placed in such a luxurious level of care, I assumed she was famous."[/color][/i]

Not one for the small talk, Cartagena's thunderous brown steel toed boots approached from down the hall. As a leader in scientific research within the Mobius Ops, he felt the obligation to see this wonder of science for himself. In his mind brewed a plethora of ways to subvert this technology into the blueprint for the next generation of super soldiers operatives. All in the name of defending against the imminent Val'gara threat. With every inch of progress, Earth-F67X became closer to taking the offensive opposed to its perpetual state of paranoia based defense.

Out of the orifices of Cartagena's rust-colored trench coat, hundreds of thin mechanical fibers wove together, pulling up his bulky emerald plated visor. His deep, unnatural, nebulae-like eyes dilated, focusing its biological scope until the operative's spinning kaleidoscope vision made out the shape of a patient standing before a window in a far left room.

[i][color=fff79a]"She's awake. Perhaps I can get some answers. If not, I'll ship her off to New Roswell to deal with Tartalo."[/color][/i] Cartagena thought sinisterly. As with just his eyes, he examined Genesis's vitals. "Unbelievable." It appeared as if her body ran with perfect efficiency. Prior to the operative's lumbering frame approaching the doorway, Genesis already felt his intimidating leer. The birds fled.

She didn't know what to think of the strange man's looks. He was a rugged, bronze-skinned individual, not too much off from her complexion, sporting a trenchcoat with an excessive number of pockets. Under was a matte-silver breastplate akin to what gladiators wore but modernized. At his waist, a bandolier of capsules and cork plugged vials of colored liquids. The operative's spiked knee pads were plagued with rust caused. His whole existence caused Genesis to question why such an individual was even approaching her. He was clearly suited for combat elsewhere. The second eye contact was made, none of that mattered. She felt like a cornered fox. Instinctively, her body tensed up.

Clearing his throat, Cartagena's voice softened a bit before he spoke. 

[i][color=fff79a]"Ms. Morant, it's nice to meet yo–"[/color][/i]

He paused, acknowledging the spike of adrenaline visibly pumping into her system. With his microscope eyes, he visualized the mobilizing nano machines in her system.

[url=https://youtu.be/Ldx29DRx-XY?t=20]"BACKTHEFUCKUP!"[/url]

The light switch flip to anger in Genesis expression resembled a scowling cheetah. He examined her abromally large canines with visuble concern. Lost for words, Cartagena tried to quell the intensity of the situation.

[i][color=fff79a]"I'm just here to ask you a few questions."[/color][/i]

Right foot forward, knees bent, right leading arm posed like a claw. She was dead serious. The befuddlement within the operatives head space was short-lived once realizing the Val'gara nanomachines manipulated her to a dangerous level of aggression. Though Genesis' sleeveless hospital gown, his eyes surveyed the extremity of her chiseled muscle definition. Cartagena siphoned the uncountable mechanical fibers present in his body as a response. The tension was so thick in the air that you could cut it with a knife. It was like a western showdown. Who would draw first?

The instant a single fiber left his sleeve, Genesis sprang across the bed with the grace of a cat, springboarding towards Cartagena with the conviction of a lion. Thousands of wires exploded out of his clothes, overwhelming her in a sea of threads wrapping all of her limbs. This included her downward slashing arm, which was just centimeters away from his chest. At first glance, it was easy to mistake her elongated nails as acrylics, but they were outright razor sharp claws. As they crept close to the operative's armor, the bulging vein on his forehead became pronounced. This defied logic. Cartagena could stop a speeding SUV in its tracks, and here he struggled to contain her. She was winning the tug of war, and with a vigorous slash, she shredded his body armor like cardboard, inflicting a grievous cut across his chest. 

Blood stained his boots cherry like dripping chateau montrose. Autonomously operating threads performed like stitches sowing his wounds proactively.

No longer playing nice, Cartagena tightened his grip in a fit of rage, outright ragdolling her with the combined might of his bulky grappling frame and constricting threads. He suplexed her, propelling as much of her body as he possibly could through the top of the room's doorframe and into the next across the hall. The entire floor went into a frenzy as patients, nurses, and senior medical pactitioners scrambled to get out of the way, screaming hysterically.

Clenching his chest with his left glove, Cartagena couldn't believe he allowed himself to take such a blow. There wasn't much time to dawn on it, however. Through the walls, he saw the target already up, healthy, and near another open window. His threads urgently contorted themselves, rocketing around and into the next room infused with bioforce, lassoing her as she reverse dove like an olympian into the night. As soon as his rope knotted tight, her body dispursed into swarm of nanomachines, self destructing into the wind, leaving Cartagena wrangling smoke. 

She was gone.

Uncharacteristically, a smirk made it onto the Mobius Operative's face. He began to record an audio log of the interaction.

[i][color=fff79a]"In a brief moment, she cloned herself and camouflaged traces of her real form that even these eyes couldn't notice. I counted only three blinks on my part throughout the whole exchange. I suppose this settles the debate of whether this technology is worth pursuing..."[/color][/i]