by Nat Kozinn
That’s why I’ve got the largest I.V. bag in history leading into my arm. It is full of water, electrolytes, every vitamin and mineral the human body needs, and even carbohydrates, fats, and proteins. It is primordial soup of the human body. If everybody had a glass of it every morning, vitamin deficiencies and malnutrition would disappear. I can only imagine how expensive it is. It’s nice to know Nita cares about me so much. Or at least cares that much about making me her weapon.
Now that I’ve got the blood flowing, I have to repress my immune system to keep it from attacking The Beast’s foreign cells. I hope there aren’t exotic, fast-acting viruses or bacteria in this makeshift hospital, or I might not survive.
The next step will be getting my new nerves to function. The doctor used miniature sutures to attach the nerves, but I still need to connect over a microscopic gap. I signal the nerves in my right arm to grow new axons, which attach to the corresponding nerves in The Beast’s hand. The connection seems to work, which is something. Feeling the hand attach to my neural network is an odd experience. A new voice joins the jumble of nerve signals in my head, but it’s speaking a different language, a much faster language. I can’t make sense of many of the impulses, but I can identify pain. The Beast’s hand didn’t like being cut off.
I lift up my arm and look at the hand. My instinct is to rip it off. Not just because it’s foreign to my body, but because of what it represents. Who knows how many people this hand killed? How many wives did it make widows? How many children did it make orphans? My hand tore Becky in half and murdered her father.
The rational side of my mind knows that the hand didn’t do anything; it’s a tool made of skin, muscle, and bone. The emotional side of my mind is horrified to think that The Beast is now a part of me. It wonders, irrationally, if somehow this hand will turn me into a monster. It’s afraid that somehow the hand will control me, not the other way around.
If I were a normal person, I’m not sure I could get over my emotional reaction to the hand. At the very least, it would take me weeks and maybe some therapy to accept it. Luckily, I’m a freak who doesn’t have to deal with the emotions I should be feeling. I simply turn off the emotional centers in my brain and the fear, anxiety, and anger disappears. The rational voice is all I hear, and it knows I control the hand, or at least I will.
My new hand doesn’t have a Mark of Differentiation. That’s something new to like about it. The Beast never went through Section 26, which means he never got the pleasure of being tested and permanently marked with the results. Not having a tattoo is against the law. Another of my many infractions.
I try to make my new hand into a fist. It works, but I closed my fingers with such force that what was left of The Beast’s claws dig into my palm. These new nerves require a much less powerful electrical charge in order to activate, which explains how The Beast can move and react so quickly. I need to learn to use this hand, and once I do, spread the new nerve cells all over my body and relearn how to use all of my limbs. I’m going to be in this bed a while.
#
“Are you sure about this? This might count as breaking the Hippocratic Oath,” the Speedster doctor says, her face full of concern.
“I’m sure. If I want bones like The Beast, I need to replace my old human ones. That will be much easier to do if it’s part of the healing process. Healthy bone is difficult to alter,” I answer.
“Don’t you want to start slow? Maybe a leg or something,” Larry advises, relying on his non-existent expertise.
“I can’t start growing my new muscles until I have a frame to support them. Plus, it’ll be easier to grow and spread The Beast’s periosteum cells all at once, which will in turn grow the chondroblasts and osteoblasts I’ll need to form new, stronger bone,” I say.
“Oh, of course. Did that make any sense to you, Doc?” Larry asks.
“He knows what he’s talking about, and I’m inclined to defer to his expertise. My medical training didn’t prepare me for treating individuals with control over their body’s tissue growth,” the doctor says.
“Damn. I was hoping you’d say he was full of it,” Larry says with a comedic frown.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Larry. Let’s get started, Doc,” I say.
The doctor picks up a small mallet. I don’t think that’s a normal part of her medical kit. She winds up and brings the mallet down on my shin. The bone cracks in dozens of places. My new nerves scream signals of pain that ring in my head. I shut down the alerts; there’s a lot of pain coming in my near future.
After her first strike, the doctor hesitates for a moment and looks to me. I give her the nod to go ahead. She turns into a blur, bringing down strikes all over my body with speed and grace. How can she move so quickly, yet also be so precise? She is truly impressive.
Larry doesn’t see the beauty in watching her work. He looks like he’s going to be sick.
“I can’t watch this. It’s like a scene out of a horror movie. I’ll come back when you’re more than a sack of broken bones.”
#
“Okay, how about five more reps?” Larry tells me.
I’m sitting in a wheelchair with a weight designed to exercise my new hand on my lap.
“I know how many more reps I should do, and it’s more than five. If I don’t get more satellite cells into my blood stream, I’ll never be able to grow new muscles,” I answer.
“Sorry, just trying to feel useful. We’re way outside my area of expertise here. I still can’t believe you made us break all the bones in your body; it looked like that doctor was breaking up old bathroom tile. I hope whatever you do to grow some muscles works. You’re pretty creepy-looking right now. You basically look like a seven foot skeleton. You need some meat on those bones.”
I still don’t know how to feel about Larry. It’s easy to fall into previous habits, joking with him like we’re old friends. It’s even easy to listen to him tell me what to do, just like when he was my teacher in Section 26. Now I know he was scheming with Nita about me the whole time. He says it was all for my own good, and I believe he thinks that, but I’m worried what else he’s willing to do for my own good. No matter what, I can’t let our banter wipe away the memory of his lies. I may forgive but I will not forget.
“I’ll fill out if someone lets me exercise. Muscles grow through injury. I’d like to get out of this wheelchair,” I say to Larry the conspirator.
“Hey, don’t let me get in your way. I’m ready for this whole process to be over. I’m sick of having to scrub every nook and cranny of my body before I come in here.”
“I’m sorry, regrowing ninety-five percent of the tissue in my body is a bit of a complicated process. I’ve been focused on enlarging my organs to support my new, bigger body. I need larger lungs to pull in more oxygen, a bigger heart to pump my oxygenated blood, a bigger liver and kidneys to clean the toxins and waste out of my bloodstream, and a bigger digestive track so I might be able to eat one day and get off this I.V. bag,” I say as a squeeze the metal prongs that exercise my hand. “That’s just for starters. If I had to fight infection too, it would make it all take longer. If my immune system was active, it would be trying to destroy all the new cells as foreign invaders. Once most of my body contains the new genetic material, my immune cells will know the new cells aren’t invaders. Otherwise, I might have to fight crime in an Astronaut space suit.”
“Speaking of your look, I don’t really know the delicate way to ask this so I’m going to blurt it out,” Larry says while shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Are you going to look like The Beast when this is all said and done?”
“There isn’t an easy answer to that. I’m going to be as tall and heavy as him, but I’m not going to grow the hair. There isn’t really any point in that. The issue is what to do about his leathery flesh. It serves as an armor of sorts, and should help protect me from guns and knives. The same is true for the claws. They serve a purpose, but…”
“They’ll make you look lik
e a monster?” Larry says.
“Bingo. I’m leaning towards not stimulating any of those cells.”
“Sounds like the right way to go. I’ll leave you alone so you can concentrate. I want Nita to think I’m useful though, so I’m going to stay here and watch some shows on think.Net.”
“How helpful.”
Larry goes into the think.Net stare and zones out. I do twenty more reps with hand resistance weight. I have to concentrate to keep my movements coordinated. I am still trying to fine-tune the integration of my old and new nervous system. I’ve spread the improved nerve cells all over my body, but there have been some side effects. I find it takes more of my focus to move my body, a byproduct of the fact that the new cells require less of an electrical charge to operate than my old ones. I’m still having a bit of trouble controlling my new hand, but at least I can move it.
The repetitions with the weight damage my new muscles, which causes them to release satellite cells. Those satellite cells are supposed to be used to make the damaged muscle stronger. Instead, I direct my vasculature to funnel those cells away from their parent muscles and into the muscles in my other arm. Soon I have a culture of cells in my right arm’s bicep. I stimulate those cells to start dividing. It works, and the cells start growing at a rapid pace. I’m in business.
#
“It’s alive! It’s alive!” Larry says, hamming it up.
I’m taking my first steps on my new legs. I’m walking between a set of parallel bars so I can stabilize myself. Considering I don’t really have any better control of my arms than I do my legs, it’s a blind leading the blind situation. I stumble on my fourth step and crush the bar when I try to catch myself. I end up on my back.
“That’s okay, Frankenstein was a little stiff too,” Larry says with a chuckle.
“Actually, Frankenstein was the doctor. The monster didn’t have a name,” I say back.
“I see losing the ability to walk did nothing to contain your smugness.”
“This is a temporary setback. No one else has ever grown a whole new body. For all you know, I’m doing great.”
“Is your lack of hair a temporary setback too? I’m having a hard time believing you’re making progress when you’re still smoother than a newborn baby. And thank God we had some giant clothes made for you,” Larry says while shuddering in mock disgust.
“I told you, I’m having trouble getting my hair to grow back because my follicle cells got all mixed up, and I don’t want a layer of fur. I’ll fix it after I’ve got everything important working,” I reply.
I flip onto my belly and try to do a push-up to get to my feet. I push so hard I throw myself up high enough to hit my head on the ceiling. Despite that, I manage to recover and land on my feet. These new muscles are incredibly powerful, and I’m loving my new, super fast reflexes. I’m not particularly enjoying having to relearn how to use my body again, but I did it before back when I first Differentiated, and I can do it again.
“You stuck the landing, but we have to deduct some points for the concussion. You hit that ceiling pretty hard, you okay?” Larry asks.
“I’ll pretend I was testing my new and improved thick skull. It worked well. I barely felt a thing.”
“You never feel pain.”
“Okay, I barely registered any damage at all.”
I start walking again. If I concentrate and move slowly, I can take somewhat controlled steps. Between my new powerful muscles and much more sensitive nervous system, what would have been a slight twitch of a limb in my old body now leads to a wild swing. It feels like I’m handling an egg with everything I do. But I always had to concentrate to control my body, now I just need to concentrate harder.
I finally get a few steps going in succession. I end up stumbling out of the rehab room and into the hallway.
“Whoa there, Gavin. Don’t go too far!” Larry yells after me, his voice trembling with concern.
“What’re you so worried about? Where am I going to go? Is there even anyone else in the facility?” I ask.
The answer hits me like a ton of bricks, The Beast! I’ve been so focused on creating my new body, I forgot that the monster who made it all possible was still here. As soon as I think of him, all the emotions associated with him come along too: anger, fear, hatred. My mind wants to experience them all. I need to know where he is.
I start walking more quickly. I stumble a bit, but I don’t care. I go through the hallway, looking in rooms that are all empty. I finally get to a closed door and try to twist the locked doorknob. I crush the Pho-plastic handle. That isn’t going to stop me. A slight push with my new, improved muscles sends the door flying off its hinges, revealing… another empty room.
“What are you doing, Gavin?” Larry asks, catching up with me.
“You know what I’m doing. Where is he?”
“Two seconds ago you could barely walk, and we were joking around. Now you’re out for blood. Where did this all come from?”
“I couldn’t do anything about The Beast when I was an invalid. Now I’m not anymore.”
“What, you’re going to kill him? Arrest him? Thank him for your new body?” Larry asks and throws his hands up.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but whatever I do starts with knowing where he is.”
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you with that. All I know is he’s not here.”
I turn around and head towards Larry. I stand up straight, making good use of my new imposing frame. I get right in his face.
“Tell me where he is!” I say while staring him down.
“I told you, I don’t know. You used to say you could always spot a liar.”
“It has recently come to my attention that I might not be as good at that as I’d like to think.”
“Wow, finally a hint of self-doubt. I didn’t know you experienced that. I guess you’re going to have to trust me. They took him away a few hours after your surgery. I have no idea where they took him. Frankly, I don’t care. I wasn’t here for him. I’m here for you. Because I care about you.”
“You’re just helping Nita pull my strings,” I say.
“Ohh, is that why I stood up my girlfriend? Is that why I’ve been ignoring angry think.Net calls from my boss? Is that why I’ve left other kids who need my help out to dry? I’m sure Nita has her schemes, but that has nothing to do with why I’m here. I’m here because you can barely walk, and you’re wanted by the police again. I’m here because I have the rather naïve notion that you might listen to me. I’m here because I thought I might be able to stop you from doing something incredibly stupid.”
“And I thought I could trust you. I guess we were both wrong,” I say.
“You always were stubborn. One of these days you’re going to figure out that there are people who care about you and want what’s best for you, and those are the people you should listen to. It might happen sooner than you think. Until then, go ahead and do whatever stupid bullheaded thing it is you’re going to do. I’ll see you soon,” Larry says with a dismissive wave of his arms. Then he walks away down the hallway.
I go on think.Net, and call Rolland Bloom.
<<
27
Log of Notable Nita/Ultracorps Activity Week 223
Discrepancies between Eat-N-Go order records and Ultracorps delivery logs.
Theories: Expect to see discrepancy on Eat-N-Go records explained by Khan laundering bribe money. Discrepancy on Ultracorps logs more puzzling. Possibly food being redirected to feed The Beast and/or other hidden Differents. Need more info.
“I’ll say it one more time. I need access to your shipping records for the last year. The paper copies, not the easily manipulated files on think.Net. And don’t try telling me those were all lost in the explosion at the lab, because I know you have backups, and I know Ultracorps just opened this facility to manage those files. I don’t want excuses,” Ben says to a terrified young man sitting at the reception desk of
the Ultracorps records office.
Ben is wearing an expensive-looking blue pinstriped suit, outfitted with shoulder pads that make him look larger and more intimidating. He has his head shaved to a buzz cut and used his chin putty to give himself one of the squarest jaws on the planet. The costume is half G.I. Joe and half Atticus Finch. Ben once again nailed the look, and makes the perfect faux FBI officer.
“I’m very sorry sir, but like I told you, I can’t let anyone in without authorization and nobody else is in yet. I heard on the radio that there’s some sort of delay on the Slug, and for some reason, I can’t get on think.Net to make a call. It’s like you said this place just opened up. It’s my first week. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” the receptionist says back with nervous panic. This is clearly the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to this young man.
Ben reaches into his pocket and pulls out a leather wallet. He opens it, revealing a shiny gold badge and an I.D. with the large letters FBI. These are movie-quality props that Ben spent hours fashioning in his basement.
“I’ll tell you what you are supposed to do; you’re supposed to look at this badge. You’re supposed to realize that saying no to me means you’re saying no to the United States government,” Ben says, his face turning red. “Have you ever heard of obstruction of justice? If you don’t tell me where the records are and let me through, I’ll arrest you. The judge isn’t going to care that the trains were delayed or that think.Net was down, he’s only going to care that you stood in the way of a federal agent attempting to perform the duties of his office. Now, are you going to let me through, or are we going to do this the hard way?” Ben moves his hand towards his waistband, threatening to pull out a gun that isn’t there.
“Please don’t arrest me,” the receptionist pleads. He bought Ben’s Oscar-worthy performance. “I’m trying to do my job. I don’t want to break any laws. The records room is down that hall, third door on the right. I don’t know where anything is kept. I’m just here to greet people.”