'Well, there goes that chance.' Jace though, his mind currently on the wasted opportunity that he had been presented with. He'd been right next to Artemis for too long, biding his time for no good reason, and look where it got him. A backup date, basically...
'Wait, something's wrong...' He had felt the Sorrow reach across the room and hit him, and he barely held onto sanity long enough to avoid smashing a plate on the floor. The surgeon had placed the porcelain platter on a table before gripping it as the day of his first mimicry came back. His skin turning scaly, his canine teeth turning to thin, sharp fangs, and his pupils narrowing to slits, all in front of the woman that had given birth to him... and she had rejected this change, shutting him out and calling the police. He was briefly experimented on...
[Three Years Prior]
"Let's see here... Jace O'Shea, says here you can make rudimentary copies of anything and everything, and it's affected by your emotions." A tall, thin, and bearded doctor spoke, standing in front of the younger Jace.
Tradger was his name. A kind sadist, if one could exist. But a sadist nonetheless. Descended from a long line of German doctors, several of whom had served the Reich, the third one to be exact. He shared the opinions of these predecessors.
"Yeah, what of it?" Jace spat back, and received a cold back-hand. The Hippocratic Oath was a mere suggestion at this point.
"Manners, boy. Can you or can you not do this?"
"..." The Irishman looked down at the floor.
"Well?" He readied another hand to strike the boy with.
"...I can."
"Was that so hard? And look at me when you speak or are spoken to. It's impolite to break eye contact."
Tradger grinned.
Jace grimaced.
[Present Day]
Jace got up as the power dissipated and threw his coat off, having it land on the table, then withdrew his shillelagh from the back of it and took on a demon's apparition, horns growing from his forehead and fingers lengthening. After all, the Hippocratic Oath was a suggest-
'Dammit Tradger, I'm done with that brainwashing crap you tried on me. I'm not hurting anyone.' He thought, the horns receding. He would, however, attempt to scare the girl responsible into submission.
The Sorrow hit Zinnia as she was leaving, the memory of her brother calling mother and father as she practiced her ability. She was exiled from the family and told to leave as a van from Miss. Dawson's pulled up. She only had time to grab Teif, her weapons, and a bag's worth of clothes...
As the memory played, Zinnia had unconsciously drawn her punch-dagger, hidden on the back of her belt, and had it against a surprised Lyra. Instinct had driven her onto her table and to the source of the power, and now it demanded that the tip, which was poised less than a centimeter from the girl's heart, draw blood. "Choose your next words wisely, girl. You're in no position to make demands anymore."
Aaron barreled past a set of doctors as he ran through the infirmary, James still tossed haphazardly over his shoulder. The boy was soon dropped in a vacant bed, and the spark plug sat down in a nearby chair, out of breath. He dropped a hand on the pocket he normally kept his knife in, then panicked. 'Shit, did I leave it in the outlet..?' He ran a quick mental checklist of what had just happened... and yes, he had left his weapon in an electrical socket. That'd be a hard one to explain.
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