10. Psychology For Idiot Babies 101 (Patreon)

Christine and I barely make it out to the clearing we've been instructed to gather ourselves in before Commander shows up, Anastasia in tow. I wince, seeing the blank-eyed child follow behind First Lieutenant Locke like a puppet. I immediately regret deciding not to pick up Anastasia on the way; I figured it was still far too soon to try to get the girl to do something at my behest, but I should have known letting someone else get Anastasia to come along would be awful for her.

Although… it's better for the relationship between Anastasia and me. I want Anastasia to like and trust me, partly because the poor thing needs a friend but partly because it's way easier to take care of and provide for a kid who doesn't fight you on everything. Trust is important, and trying to push her to go to class when she doesn't want to right after trying to push her to eat what she doesn't want to would erode my ability to establish that trust. Obviously, taking care of a child involves making them do things they don't want to do, and sometimes that takes precedence, but my situation is shaky because I don't have the social authority to enforce the things I ask of her as I see fit, like a parent or teacher would.

Like Commander does. Though instead of going about establishing obedience from Anastasia in any sort of remotely healthy way, the woman just fucking mind controls her, directing the child to stand with the rest of our group while she heads to the front. After lining up next to me, Anastasia's body slackens a bit, blinking sleepily a few times as her brain slowly remembers that it's supposed to be in control of itself. She glances up at me and I give her a sad smile and a nod, though I don't want to risk trying to talk to her right as Commander starts to speak instead.

"Welcome to every day for the next month and a half, trainees," she says, her voice projecting loudly over all of us through sheer lung strength. "We're teaching you how to think in the morning and how to do in the afternoon. So welcome, all of you, to your first session on how to be a superhero."

She pauses to let her words ripple through us, her back straight as an arrow. I wonder if she, like me, is trying to pick which of us look excited by the prospect and which of us aren't idiots. (It goes without saying, but Andrew looks quite excited.)

"Some of you have abilities that are quite impressive," Commander continues. "Others of you have abilities that may seem worthless at first glance, but hold quite a bit of potential that we don't understand. And yet others of you have abilities that are little more than party tricks, convenient but ultimately unremarkable. But all of you, regardless of which category you fall in, will emerge from your training as superheroes. That doesn't mean you'll be flying around in custom colorful tighty-whities, but you will have power and importance beyond that of any normal human, and you will be heroes."

A small smile quirks at her lips as her eyes glance between us. Yeah, definitely sizing us up. Separating the useful fools from the dangerous ones. I take note of anyone whose gaze she lingers on, myself included; Commander seems the type to prefer the dangerous ones, after all.

"Earlier today you all learned about your domains, and the importance they play in modern warfare. Now, you will learn to feel them. The lot of you are weak and useless, the domains you claim as your own little more than open doors for any angel to rip you apart. But we'll get you up to speed."

A pressure suddenly flows over me, a presence pressing down on all sides, promising joy with sickly, desperate tears. I just have to let it in, and I'll be happy. I recognize it immediately as Commander's domain.

"Raise your hand," Commander orders, "if you understand what just happened."

Well, that seems like a loaded thing to say, but I can't appear weak here. I raise my hand at an unhurried pace, like feeling what I felt is the most natural thing in the world. Andrew does the same, albeit a lot more hesitantly, as does Anastasia and a few other people. Ed and Christine do not, though, looking around largely in confusion alongside the majority of others. Interesting. So most people don't feel this?

I guess Anastasia's understanding makes perfect sense, regardless of how much talent they happen to have at supernatural sensory bullshit. After all, she’s been under Commander's power before. Anastasia in particular has a haunted, almost regretful cast to her eyes that reminds me of someone working themselves up to admitting they stole their mother's credit card, or raided a booze stash that they promised they'd thrown away. It's odd. Even if I discount her, though, there are a few other people like me who just picked up what Commander put down. Andrew already demonstrated that he's similarly sensitive to how domains feel, considering how he described mine. …Though that was weird in and of itself. 'Like no doors will ever be closed again,' huh?

"Morgan," Commander barks, calling me by Lia's last name. "You think you can enlighten your peers?"

"You expanded your domain, ma'am," I answer as evenly as I'm able.

"And how do you know that?" she presses.

"Because… touching your domain is a distinct feeling," I answer. Ugh, that sounds so wishy-washy, but what else do I say?

"Can you describe that feeling?"

Tantalizing. Comforting. Beautiful. Dangerous.

"...I think I would struggle to put it into words, ma'am," I lie. Commander seems to accept the lie easily though, like she expected it. …Though whether she expected me to lie about it or be genuinely unable to describe it, I'm not sure.

"McNeil!" Commander calls out next, causing Andrew to jolt. Andrew McNeil, huh? Good to know. "Why don't you take a shot at it?"

"U-um," he stammers. "I guess I'd describe it as… something sweet? But in a bad way. Like rotting fruit."

Commander seems surprised at that, and she barks out a quick laugh.

"Quite sensitive, aren't you?" she says. "Some people get strange impressions from contact with other domains, for reasons we aren't quite sure of. Most people don't feel anything by default, but all of you will at minimum be able to feel the presence or absence of other domains within your own before long. That kind of sensitivity is trainable, up to a certain extent, and it's going to be a completely essential skill for the vast majority of you. And as for why I just prodded all your domains with mine… great news, McNeil! You are also the reason for that. Get up here."

"Uh, m-me?" Andrew stammers.

"No, the other McNeil I just talked to five seconds ago! Get your ass up here! Blackburn, you too!"

Andrew jolts into action, pushing past a couple of people in front of him to run up next to Commander and awkwardly face the rest of us, while a stern, dark-haired man who looks like he's in his upper thirties walks up alongside him. The man, whose last name is presumably 'Blackburn,' has the sort of sharp, no-nonsense expression I'd expect from a career military man, but he obviously isn't a career military man because he's as pale as a corpse and has about as much muscle on his frame as a stick figure.

"These two gentlemen are going to be the key to feeling out your own domain and others, because each of them has a generalized resonance effect in addition to their other abilities. And today you are going to learn what that means by using your powers on them."

Um. That sounds. Unsafe???

"I will, of course, be here to prevent your powers from actually doing anything," Commander says, following up on the fear that I and hopefully everyone just experienced. "You're all so weak that you don't stand a chance of getting a foothold anywhere I don't allow you to. But even if you can't use your abilities, you should still be able to feel your domain. So we're learning that today. Come on up, two at a time."

I'm curious as to what resonance effects are, especially in regards to how they'd help people understand their own domains, but I figure I'm literally about to find out in the next minute or two so I do my best to focus on other things for now, mainly how other people are reacting to walking up to Andrew and Blackburn and being told to shake hands. Some of them react immediately, visibly tensing up as they feel something, while others stick around for a bit longer, Commander carefully instructing them to try and use their abilities little by little until something seems to connect for them. One or two people end up getting sent back without seeming like they've made a breakthrough, but most of the people who had no concept of their own domain before seem to be returning quite stunned by… whatever new sensations they're feeling.

I instinctively tense up when Anastasia walks forward and takes Blackburn's hand, my fight-or-flight instincts always acting up when one of the kids I'm responsible for starts talking to a stranger, but Blackburn just limply takes her hand like he's taken every other, because what else would he do. Anastasia frowns, Commander asks her something, and the girl just silently nods at her and is dismissed. Hmm.

It's my turn, soon enough. Andrew is already dealing with someone else so I also go to shake Blackburn's hand, which is annoying. I don't need more dick data in my repertoire, but I guess Commander said she’d be blocking our powers from actually working so hopefully that'll be true. Wordlessly, I take his hand, and I feel his power press against mine.

It's disappointed in me. I am nothing close to my best self, and that is offensive. Can I not excel at anything? It doesn't matter what; so long as it finds perfection, nothing else matters. And while I am not perfect, I could be, if I just let it help.

…But just like when I touched Andrew, my power surges with indignation at this declaration, flaring up and pushing back. This, I realize, is what everyone must be feeling when they brush against one of these two domains; my power feels stronger than it ever did before, piercing into Blackburn's with unexpected vigor. But the moment I do, I feel Commander's sickly-sweet promises blocking my way further. Which, y'know, is exactly what I wanted to happen, so that's good.

"I definitely feel it," I report.

"I expected you would," Commander nods. "Head back, then."

I do so, and it's not long before all nineteen of us have had a turn.

"So," Commander addresses us, "that's a resonance effect. Most of you felt it easily; those who didn't will need to get more in tune with their abilities and try again. Blackburn! How did it feel?"

"...It felt as though my ability was getting stronger, whenever it interacted with another," the pale man answers, his voice like someone pressing a single low note on a piano and holding it for an uncomfortably long period of time. Hmm. So he felt the same thing as the rest of us, huh?

"Exactly," Commander agrees. "And I'll cut to the chase: that's exactly what it does. As of right now, Blackburn and McNeil are worth more than the rest of you combined, because they provide a baseline tactical effect to nearly every super in their range. That nearly is important, though: resonance effects apply on a power-by-power basis. While these two might empower most of you, it's not a universal effect. But you don't need to worry about that because none of your dumb asses will be planning how to build squads; what you need to know is how to recognize this, and later, how to react to it. Likewise, for the five of you who haven't figured it out yet, a dissonance effect is the opposite: it's when you come into contact with another power and interacting with it weakens you. Dissonance effects are much less common and much less predictable than resonance effects, though they can be very dangerous. Watch out for them, and if you ever feel like you're experiencing one, tell an officer immediately."

Somebody raises their hand, and Commander calls on them by name like some kind of evil, mind-controlling elementary school teacher.

"If they aren't actually an aspect of the power itself, why do resonance and dissonance effects occur?"

"We don't know," Commander says simply. "Leave that for the eggheads and the researchers. All you need to care about is the fact that whenever you come in contact with a new domain, you don't know if it's going to cause a resonance effect, a dissonance effect, or neither. It'll usually be neither, but the damning thing is that you cannot control this. If you and one of your fellow soldiers have a dissonance effect with each other, you will simply have to keep your domains away from each other in order to function effectively. Likewise, these two fools—"

She slaps Andrew and Blackburn on the back of their heads for absolutely no fucking reason.

"—Will need to stay well away from any angels without enormous amounts of support, because their resonance effects will function on the enemy as well. They're basically giant, glowing targets of opportunity that make anyone who tries to kill them more powerful."

Any excitement Andrew had from hearing that he was worth more than the rest of us combined (which was honestly a pretty concerning amount of excitement) is thoroughly dashed by the prospect of being a preferred target of opportunity, proving against all odds that he at least has the bare minimum of sense.

"Anyway! Onto what you're all here for today: most of you just felt your domain change on its own. While you can't manually increase or decrease your power like that, the feeling is comparable to expanding or contracting your domain's size. Focus on it, and try to move your power's reach. Begin!"

Yeah okay, just grab ahold of the invisible, unexplainable energy field that isn't really energy and push it around a little. Easy peasy. Sarcasm aside, I still close my eyes and try to do as she says. My power has come with all sorts of irritating, unwanted feelings: touch, taste, and smell among them, of course, but it even adds its own set of qualia to the mix with the feeling of analyzing organic matter, or the feeling of overlapping with someone else's domain. Hopefully, since I apparently have an abnormally high sensitivity to that last one, things should be a little easier to 'feel out,' but will it really be that easy?

The sensation of my domain getting more powerful is oddly foreign to me. Again, I recall the soldier who woke me up today telling me that my power is my power, no one else's, and it has no will of its own. It's both my responsibility and my sole province to control it. Yet the feeling of brushing against Andrew and Blackburn's domains didn't only cause an effect outside my control—resonance—but it did so in a manner that felt as if something else was causing the effect. Something was getting indignant at Andrew's domain's insistence of superiority, and responding accordingly.

Although… I suppose it's always possible that the something is me. Maybe not the conscious me, sure, but subconscious? I can see that. I definitely have the arrogance necessary to instinctively bristle at anyone claiming that they're better than me, so if that feeling is the feeling I grasp in order to push my domain… well.

I guess it's called a domain, after all. What even is a domain, if not the insistence that some space is owned? I take a deep breath, hold that power in my mind, and push, the certainty that the world around me is mine at the forefront of my thoughts. My superpower is mine. Therefore, it obeys me. And I insist that everything—every last goddamn thing—is mine as well, so long as I can reach it.

So reach it, I do. My power expands. I've always felt it, to some degree, but it was nothing more than a thin film over my skin, just one distracting sensation among thousands. But as I push against the inside of my own limited bubble, shoving my area of influence out around me and stretching it as thin as it will go, that sensation is replaced by a thousand more, enough to tear my mind in half and leave me spasming on the floor.

The more it expands, the weaker my domain becomes, allowing everyone else in my class to easily block my power from affecting them without even a smidge of effort. But that doesn't help me even the slightest bit from the uncountable breadth of life that doesn't have powers. Insects, arachnids, worms, grass, fungi… even in the tiny space I manage to push my domain out to, barely a few feet in every direction, I'm assaulted by countless minuscule examples of life, and every last one of them fights for domination in my consciousness.

And none of them lose. I vomit, feeling tiny, insectoid legs of a half-dozen different species start growing out of my arms and legs in place of body hair. Grass grows from my scalp, mycelium extends into the ground from anywhere my skin touches it, and tiny wings erupt from my cheeks and face like buzzing scales. And all the while, each and every part of each and every change is cataloged, analyzed, and filed into my brain at a level of detail far beyond anything I've ever wanted to know. Moments later, I feel Commander's domain crushing mine, smothering it back down to a more manageable size, but it's already too late. The changes are still happening, my body shifting, unshifting, and reshifting a seemingly endless array of useless possibilities.

…Or, well. No possibility is truly useless. They're certainly useless on my humanoid form, but there's potential to these designs if I lose enough mass. These chitin structures don't scale up well, but I can always simply scale myself down. …Am I screaming?

Whatever. I feel Commander's domain press down on me even harder, trying to take over the influence I have over my own skin, but since I'm making myself smaller I can shrink my domain to match—raising its density and strength, just like I was taught—to keep her out.

"Help me with her!" Commander shouts, and more pressure crashes into me, working with her to smother my abilities down to practically nothing. Damn. So much interesting potential, left untested. I wanted to test the upper limit of my ability to gain and lose mass; a lot of what I've just learned could come in handy if I'm able to make myself as small as a bug. And the possibilities of that! Infiltration, escape, spying, or just the simple joy of being able to fly! I mean, I'd obviously have to completely change my body plan and remove my own brain, but—

Oh fuck, that's why I'm screaming, huh?

Whatever currently passes for my lungs coughs and heaves for air, my self-awareness and self-preservation finally shunting itself back into the conscious part of my brain after it had been forced out by everything else. My body is… incomprehensible. A transient state between human child and insect that I'd been using to test how much of my body I didn't actually need to survive. I've reduced myself to nothing but a head and half a limbless torso, everything below my ribcage completely removed and sealed up, various tiny plant and bug bits sticking out from my body randomly as I messed around with them during my work.

This was me. I did this to myself. I can't vomit again without a stomach, but I give it my best shot, my throat constricting and trying to pull up acid that no longer exists.

"Answer me, trainee," someone barks. "Nod, or blink three times, or say something."

Can I say anything? I inhale again, cough again, and finally manage to choke something out.

"...I'm okay," I croak. "I'm lucid."

Commander is kneeling over me, glaring with an intensely aggressive, yet at least slightly concerned expression on her face. How touching.

"We're taking you to medical," she says.

"No," I choke out without thinking about it. "I'm fine."

"You're fine?" she snaps. "Do you have any idea what you've just done to yourself, recruit?"

"Yes," I hiss, because I in fact know exactly what the fuck I just did to myself, to a frankly absurd level of detail. That's why I had a seizure. "I got overwhelmed and lost focus. Which is why I need practice. …Ma'am."

She's unconvinced, because of course she's unconvinced; I look like a mutant dead baby. I have to get myself back to normal, or… shit. My clothes are all splayed out on the floor, I'm wearing nothing but a dress-sized t-shirt now. If I grow my legs back I'll be showing everyone my junk… hmm. Unless I just don't make myself any, I guess? Yeah. In the same way I can extend skin over the underside of my body to prevent my guts from leaking out when I removed half my torso, I can do the same to the spot my genitals would normally be. I don't need to form them. I'm obviously not restricted to mere templates.

And it's not like being carted away like an invalid would be less shameful than being seen naked anyway. I wasn't just blustering, after all. I'm fucking fine. I don't need whatever help people think they're offering.

So I start to shift back to normal. I regrow a full body, albeit child-sized and lacking a few essential orifices for now. I get to my feet, ignoring the stares from literally everyone as I collect my clothes, tossing my shirt off with the rest of them so I can fix my bra properly when I grow back into it. And grow I do; my acceleration back to full adult height gives me a flash of vertigo, that deeply ingrained panic within me insisting I've fucked up and gotten myself into a life alert situation. But I shove those instincts aside. They're useful to the real me, but I'm not her anymore.

May as well discard them, because now I can stand just fine. I will not fall.

So I don't. I fix my bra as best I can without actually having regrown Lia's breasts yet, then pull my underwear on while ignoring the burning red blush I feel forming all over my face and neck. I'm fine. I have to be fine, because I'm better than the sort of weakling who wouldn't be. I finish dressing myself in full view of everyone here, my body not matching any particular person I've copied so much as settling as a vague, sexless mix between them.

I let out a huff of air as I push my body back to Lia's template, filling out my outfit and re-opening the frustratingly sensitive holes in my body that, frankly, I was just as happy without.

"...May we continue?" I ask flatly, wishing I could glower at the many eyes still not minding their own damn business but knowing I have to refrain from seeming emotional. To prove I am in control, I must control myself.

"No, you may not, trainee," Commander snaps back. "I said you're being taken to medical and I damn well meant it. If you can walk yourself there, all the better. You two, escort her."

Commander points at two of the soldiers that have just been hanging around, likely contributors to the other domains forcing mine down earlier. I grit my teeth, wanting to argue more, but I swallow the urge. Authority has been established. I can't step on that any further without consequences, so as painful as it is, I swallow it all down.

"...Yes, ma'am," I nod to Commander. "Apologies."

I don't know what the fuck they think they can accomplish with me in medical; my body is in near-perfect health and that will only continue to improve as I practice my abilities. It's obvious that the real reason they're sending me away is for everyone else's sake, not mine. Stares of horror surround me on all sides, Christine and Andrew chief among them, though there's also a decent collection of pity and worry. Even Anastasia looks at me like she wants to help, which makes bile churn in my throat. I can't let myself be another problem for her. I can't. On top of everything else, I refuse to make Anastasia worry about me, too.

I want to be someone she can rely on. Someone that can help her. I need to get my power under control.

But still, I'm escorted away from our power training class and silently guided through the halls until I end up in a medical room. I'm left there waiting for quite some time, hushed conversations occurring outside the room until a doctor or nurse or (for all I know) a completely unlicensed quack comes in to stab me, taking careful extractions of blood with gloved hands to ensure we don't make skin contact. I'm tempted to reach my domain out again and steal her template, for no reason beyond the fact that she clearly doesn't want me to. …But that would be petty, and stupid, and pointless, and I'm only having the thought because I'm frustrated, so I push it down with all the rest of them.

I'm aware, consciously, that repressing all my emotions and frustrations isn't a healthy coping mechanism. That's like, Psychology for Idiot Babies 101. But there's a difference between unhealthy suppression of the self and having the basic decency to not follow every stupid whim, right? It's okay to hide annoyance, ride it out, and come back to the situation with a clearer head. That is the healthy response. Interacting with people is about doing what you should be doing, not what you want to be doing.

After another fifteen minutes of waiting, the maybe-doctor returns.

"Your blood is quite normal," she comments, sitting down in front of a computer in the room.

"I'm not sure what you expected," I tell her honestly. "If you want abnormal blood, I can make that too."

"That won't be necessary," she chuckles. "At least not today. We're going to give you a few MRIs, is that alright?"

Huh. Do they have all that advanced medical equipment in this building? I guess they really want to keep the new supers separated from everyone else, even in an emergency.

"My consent is largely irrelevant, so feel free," I say, letting the comment slip out before I can stop it. Shit.

"Ms. Morgan, your consent is extremely relevant," the doctor insists, swiveling her chair to face me and giving me a serious look.

Aw, she really believes that. How cute. And I'm sure if I tell her 'no, I don't want you to do an MRI,' she'll support me wholeheartedly and I won't end up having one today. Which… y'know. That's not a bad thing. It's certainly how I wish everybody treated consent, but it doesn't really work like that, does it?

I do not, after all, get to consent on the matter of whether I'm working for the military or not. Obviously I could try to leave, disobey, or otherwise make a general nuisance of myself, but agreeing to do something because the consequences of not doing it will be dire isn't actually consent in any meaningful way. Disobeying my military leaders could get me imprisoned or worse, and considering how I've never actually heard of a superhuman prison before, my money's on 'or worse.'

Of course, my military leaders can't legally force me to consent to invasive medical practices. If I say no, they will let me say no. But they're still my military leaders, and there will be consequences for disobeying anything they want from me, albeit plausibly deniable ones. And I'm not about to subject myself to them. Doing so would be stupid, which is why they work. I don't like it here, but I like the consequences of trying to leave even less. That, again, isn't consent.

I don't actually know if I'd want to try and escape to become a so-called 'villain' if I was powerful enough to do so, of course. I hate this, sure, but it's the fucking apocalypse. Nobody is having fun here, and there is a world that needs saving, one way or another. It's not really worth thinking about, though. I'm not powerful enough to have a choice in the matter, and I likely never will be.

"I consent, then," I say firmly, looking my doctor in the eyes. I have to double down on seriousness since I let the cynicism slip out earlier. If she doesn't believe my consent is valid, she might not accept it, and that would be annoying even though she would be completely correct and definitely doing the right thing.

MRIs, it turns out, are very weird. They end up fitting me with an IV and warning me that it's going to make my body feel really warm, and I might feel like I'm peeing myself, but I won't be. Which… I'm not really sure how to react to, so I just nod. I don't have any idea what peeing myself actually feels like, and… I'm surprised to learn that it is apparently expected that I would know? Do normal people often pee themselves!? The doctor just said that like it's no big deal.

You learn something new every day, I guess.

They scan me normally for a bit (it absolutely feels like a flush of warmth inside my body, which is very strange, uncomfortable, and hard to tune out) and then they ask me to do a bit of shapeshifting during the scan, taking different forms and holding them for a while. Which… well, makes me pretty self-conscious about the construction of my brain.

I try to keep it more or less the same through every change, but I can't. Not really. An adult-sized brain doesn't fit in a child-sized body, and how do I accommodate that if not by simply obeying my power's intuition? I don't like the idea of shifting my own brain, but the ship of Theseus has been thoroughly smashed to splinters and rebuilt from the wreck already.

I think most of my brain is still me. I believe it is. But ultimately, I only have my best guess on what parts of the inside of my skull are still bona fide, original Julietta. I don't have a template for myself, I only have the parts of me that I desperately begged my body to hold onto… and so many shapeshifts later, who knows what they've gone through?

Yet despite all that, I have to believe I'm still me. If I can't do that, then what's the point?

The whole experience is uncomfortable. I'm not a fan of getting stabbed on a good day, but my power lets me feel the needle inside my body and it's just… ugh. Nope nope nope, I need to not think about that, at least not outside what I have to think about to keep it inside my vein while I swap around to different body types.

"How are you holding up?" the doctor asks after one of the times they pull me out of the machine.

"Just ducky," I answer, since it's weird enough that it usually gets a laugh. …I wonder if I can turn into a duck. Would that make it more or less funny? "How weird does it look?"

"Well… first I'd like to ask you a few things," the doctor says, which I do not consider a good sign. "Do you find yourself thinking or feeling oddly when you transform?"

"I mean, sometimes I feel a little overwhelmed by my power, like when I woke up this morning or… during training, I guess," I answer honestly. "But if you're asking because of what you saw on the MRI? No, I felt normal through all those changes."

"...I see," she hums. "Well, that's good, because it's looking like the structure of your brain and the areas of activity are changing very significantly whenever you transform."

"Oh, cool," I answer. "That's not existentially terrifying at all."

I believe it should go without saying that this is in fact a lie, and I am panicking. I mean, I kind of expected this, but still! What the fuck!?

"There could be a lot of explanations for this," the doctor assures me. "Every person's brain is naturally very different, so if you feel the same in every body, it might be your power somehow normalizing how you think across completely different brain structures."

That sounds like bullshit she's saying to make me feel better, but I suppose I would very much like to feel better about this.

"What about my memories, though?" I ask.

"...Are they changing?" the doctor asks, quirking her head at me. "Are you picking up memories from the people you turn into?"

"Well, no," I admit.

"Okay, then that's not a problem. For whatever reason, the changes to your brain structure don't seem to be affecting you all that much."

"Huh," I say. "I guess. Sometimes I do things I wouldn't normally do on instinct, though, and that kind of concerns me."

"What kind of things?" she asks.

"Just little stuff," I answer. "Like shampooing my hair or wiping my ass. I do it differently when I'm not thinking about it."

It's more than that, of course. Dressing myself, walking, running… even my mannerisms of speech sometimes. But that would tip her off that I'm spending a lot more time outside my own body than I'm claiming to. Those two examples, however, will give a very different impression, one that's a lot more amusing to believe.

"...You shapeshift often in the bathroom, then?" she asks, and I command the blood vessels in my cheeks to expand, forcing a blush onto my face.

"That," I haltingly insist, "is not important."

"Sorry," she apologizes, though I can tell she's suppressing a chuckle. "Though for the record I don't think there's any issue with using your power… recreationally. Superhumans who enjoy their abilities tend to be much more mentally well-adjusted than those who dislike them, so finding ways to appreciate what you can do now is a good use of your time. Anyway, the instincts there are interesting, but I don't think they're anything to worry about. If it ever becomes more than that, however, definitely let us know."

"I will," I lie, and soon enough I'm out of the MRI room, being escorted elsewhere. More specifically, I quickly learn I'm being escorted to my officially assigned therapist, which I've gotta say I was not expecting to have. Soldiers, after all, are not exactly known for having good mental health, but it's nice to know that's not entirely for lack of trying.

I am, however, very annoyed that I'm required to go to this therapist, since the implication is that I'm in serious need of one. I am not.

Still, I enter the office I'm directed to, declining to shake hands with the man who meets me inside. My therapist looks to be in his low thirties, with small, round glasses and a bald spot already encroaching on his otherwise-youthful features. He retracts his hand without any sign of offense or probing questions, simply sitting in one of the two comfy lounge chairs that flank either side of a low, glass table. I take the other one, since I am obviously supposed to.

And then I stare at him, projecting as stone-cold of a poker face as I can manage.

After all, as nice as this guy seems, he's a major threat. Any attempt at talking about my problems could lead to a stupid slip-up, an unfortunate hint that I'm not really who I say I am. But while I'm a decent liar, I'm not really a storyteller. I can't pretend to have Lia's problems and string him along that way. And even the things I could tell him about my time in the Army will let him start building a psych profile of questionable confidentiality, which could also screw me over. I have no good reason to talk.

But also, I'm just pissed. Yes, I get it, I collapsed screaming in the middle of training after my own powers tried to kill me. (Except maybe it wouldn't have killed me, since the structure of my brain doesn't seem to affect my thoughts? …Testing that would be stupid, though.) That obviously freaked everyone out, even Commander, but if they're so fucking worried then maybe they should go to therapy! I don't need this, and I especially don't need to be missing power training to be here. On the first fucking day, even!

"Well, let's see… Lia Morgan, right?" he smiles at me, being very much not right. "I'm Dr. Morrison. How can I help you today?"

"You can't," I say bluntly. "I intend to waste your time until I'm allowed to leave."

He blinks at me.

"...Why?" he asks, but I'm not falling for that. I wait and say nothing for forty-five minutes, and then he tells me our time is up. He is, I suppose, a patient man.

I do feel bad, though. It's not really his fault that I'll never be able to trust him. Part of his job is dealing with difficult people like me, so hopefully he's used to it, or he can at least use the time I give him to relax.

By the time all the medical crap and therapy is over, power training is also over, and it's time for dinner. Power training lasts a long time, so it looks like dinners here will be pretty late, starting at seven thirty in the evening. I'm already starving again by the time it rolls around, though I guess that's probably my power and I don't know if a normal person would feel the same.

People… aren't super interested in talking to me. I can tell by the looks on their faces. And frankly, I'm exhausted from social interaction anyway. From everything that happened today and everything that I learned, I just want to grab as much food as I can and head back to my room. So… that's what I do. Never let it be said that I don't perform self-care.

Dinner is interesting. I nab it quickly and rush back, eating on the way. It's some kind of cornmeal mash with tofu, a weird and bland combo with a nice flavor but a very unsettling collection of textures. The grainy, almost chalky corn paired with slimy-smooth tofu is just… bleh. I devour it all anyway, though, because of course I do.

After eating, I don't feel like I need to use the bathroom—I haven't felt the need to do that all day, and I'm still wondering where it all goes when I shapeshift my intestines away—but I am definitely in need of a shower. The thin film that has always felt stuck to my body since I gained the ability to touch has proven itself to be something different entirely, and now that's bringing attention to the actual thin film of who-knows-what that's currently caked to my skin. Sweat, I assume, though I have to assume because surprise, surprise, my old, fucked-up body never did that either.

I enter the bathroom, close my eyes, and take a deep breath, pushing my domain out from the confines of my body and into the surrounding air like I did in class earlier. …But slower this time, obviously. Just a little, just enough to differentiate the feeling of its edges from the feeling of my skin. …Yes. I'm dirty. I've been sweating. I'm pretty sure that's what this is. I sigh, and open my eyes again.

Lia's face stares back at me in the mirror. Lia's goddamn face.

"Julietta," I whisper silently, as one little act of defiance. One tiny bit of time that I get to myself. "It's Julietta. Not Jules."

I strip my clothes off and head into the shower, trying not to think about what the doctor said about 'recreational' uses of my power. I'm not an idiot. I know she means 'masturbate weird.' And the thought of it does send an inexplicable tingle through my body, an instinct that isn't mine and certainly isn't desired pulsing through me as another reminder of everything I'm not.

But I guess I have a solution for that, now. I smooth myself out, sealing up and replacing any erogenous flesh as I suck Lia's breasts back into my body, letting my skin shuffle into that messy mix of hues it seems to like to shift between when I let it run wild. It's nothing like who I really am, but it's a little closer than default Lia, and right now that counts for a lot. I head into the shower and wash myself off, unable to resist saying it one last time.

"Julietta."

I want someone to call me that again. But I won't get that luxury for a long time, and that's okay. I'm strong.

I can handle it.