It turns out Basilisk’s safehouse is more like a compound. There’s a ton of little rooms everywhere, and all of them are just as cluttered and messy as that main office space (or surgery center, or whatever that place was), just absolutely sprinkled with half built prototypes and machines everywhere. It’s as if someone just completely sugar’d this entire hall with hundreds and thousands of them. He must have taken over some abandoned building somewhere and really just let it go to jimmies. 

Damn, I’m hungry. 

“Hey, Mr. Basilisk?” I march forward, hands up in the air where he could see them, just to make sure he knew I wouldn’t be a threat. He had the kindness to return the gesture and lower the knife, although not enough to drop it altogether. Always be prepared I guess. I wasn’t that bad at the boyscouts that I wouldn’t remember that part. “Not arguing with you or anything, but do you think I can have some food when I get to wherever we're going? Whatever that was must have taken a lot out of me. I feel like I haven't eaten in days!" 

"That's because you haven't eaten in days. I’m frankly shocked you woke up when you did, it seemed like it was going to be for the long haul." What? Then, how long was I out for? Did Basilisk really take care of me for days? Just because I stopped him from getting stabbed?

I guess it was lucky I’m the one he came across. I don’t really have a major job, I haven’t spoken to my family in a long while. Someone with better connections would raise suspicions. All I really have is…

Well, I have David, and Kitty. Would they care, though? Kitty is pretty laid back, I’m sure she would take it on the chin. David though… No, he’s a worrier. He’s probably already torn half the city apart looking for me. And that could turn out bad, if any dots start to get connected. I can’t get him involved in this stuff. No, I gotta get in contact with him as soon as I can.  

I turn my head to look towards my kind of savior kind of captor. "There's no way you could, like, get me a cellie too? If I was out that long I'm going to have people worried about me." He seems unmoved, that permanent scowl on his face. "Maybe even, uh, searching for me? That could end up pretty bad…" I give the best puppy dog eyes to try and soften the implied threat. It’s a gamble. Mixed messages, but whatever.

He grumbles, again. I'm starting to think that he only has one mode he operates in, and that's pissed off. "No. I'm not taking chances that you won't turn coat the second you get a chance." I throw my hands up to argue, and he raises his knife again. Right, no hand movements. "We're here. Get in." 

It seems nearly as makeshift as everything else around here. A heavy sealing door in a glass wall making it seem more like a jail cell than anything else. The other three walls are marked with all sorts of damage; crumbled walls, scorch marks. Basilisk's telltale decay is all over underneath it. I assume this is as much a training room as it is a safe one.

I don't really have much option, so I step into the room and wait for Basilisk to close the door behind me, locking me in. Before he does, he tosses in a wheelie office chair that was near the door, and his scalpel. And then, thunk goes the big metal door. 

I walk over to the glass wall, looking directly at him. He squares up to me, staring me directly in the eyes. He's taller than me, no surprise, head angled down, staring through the bridge of his nose. It feels like he's either trying to figure out exactly how I tick, or willing me to die on the spot. I curl in on myself a little. This guy is extremely terrifying, actually.

After a minute of this, he presses something to the side of the glass; there's a soft crackle and buzz coming from the corner of the room. I pivot towards the noise; a somewhat busted speaker, with wires jutting out every which way out of it and into the wall behind it. "You want food? Pick up the scalpel." I shrug. It's not like ignoring him is going to get me anything. I walk over to it, and before I can reach down, he buzzes in again. "Without doing whatever you did to my table."

Right, yeah. Just pick it up, like normal. I look at my fingers, the glassy, transparent things they've become. And the sharp jagged bits at the end. They really weren't that long, it wasn't like I had full knives sticking out of my hands. Honestly, if they were flesh, they would just look like they were rather unkempt long nails. 

He buzzes in again. "Sometime this century, kid." Right! Right, yeah. I squat down, knees together, leaning over towards the small knife. Gingerly I poke out a finger towards it. Don't do anything, please! Just, stay a cute little mini knife! Finally, I press the flat of my finger against it, and…

Nothing. It just scoots slightly from being touched. I pick it up softly between my fingers like it could explode at any moment, but it never does anything. 

"Good. That means it's not totally involuntary. I want to see if you can do it on command. Is this innate or random. See if you can't do it now." 

Right. Just do, whatever I did the first time! I stare at the scalpel in my hand as it continues to sit there and do nothing. Come on, little knife! Turn into garbage or whatever! I scrunch my brow and think at it as hard as I can, and yet it remains naught but a little knife. 

Basilisk buzzed in to say something else, but I'm not paying attention to it. I can do this! What exactly is different from last time? Well, I had a class one villain threatening me, for one. God, I hope my life doesn't have to be under threat for it to work, because I would rather it never be again, thank you! He pulled up this little guy, I panicked a little, dug my nails into the leg…

The idea strikes me rather quickly, honestly. I rest the scalpel in my palm, reach over with my other hand, and poke it explicitly with the glass jutting out of my fingers. Still nothing. I crease my brow again. Please, little knife, work with me here!

I feel my heart beating faster and faster, and myself starting to lose my composure. No, no, come on. Zen mode. I clear my mind, empty it, and center myself, right in my chest. Picture the scalpel, feel it in my hand, feel it connected to me, though my nails. I feel my heart heating up; not beating faster, but physically warming, everywhere where the glass coats it. Then, like a bolt of lightning, I feel that warmth burst out through my arm, though my finger, into where I’m holding the knife…

Suddenly, out from the point where I've poked the little metal stick, it starts bubbling and hissing, and then large squares jut out around it. Soon the entire thing is utterly greebled, more random blocks in the shape of a stick than any kind of knife. 

A smile creeps onto my face, wide. Holy shit! I got it! I got it on my first try! I run over to the window to show Basilisk, bouncing on my toes. "Look! I got it! It's all cubed!" 

In response, he scowls marginally less. "Can you turn it back." 

Ok, wow. Way to kill the mood, dude. Can't you let me have this, mister top villain? I huff, clear my mind, and hold it up in my dominant hand towards him. My glare goes from him to the poor little once-scalpel. I'm sorry, little knife, for greebling you. I breathe out, shut my eyes, and press my thumbnail into the stick. Please go back to how you were. Again, the heat, and again, the bolt from my heart to my fingers. Almost instantly, I hear the same hissing as a few minutes ago. Please work please work please work. I slowly open my eyes, and… The little knife is back! Good as new! Hell, better than new! Where it came to me dull, it was now gleaming, polished up like silver.

Wait, wait a minute. If it's better, then… It wasn't just undoing what I did. It was more, changing it again? But more, structured? Changing it correctly? I bet that's not all it can do, either. I lick my lips. What if… 

Once again, I ignore whatever Basilisk had started to say and gave my focus to my project. I press my thumbnail into the scalpel, feel the heat, and start hearing the hissing of the item being changed. Soon, it curls over, wrapping into a solid circle. Steam hisses off of it, as it starts to shrink down, smoothen out into a polished little band. A ring. Sitting in the palm of my hand. 

I play with it with the flat of my right pointer finger, feeling it tink against the glass digit. It's weird; my finger is entirely riged now, no give to it. Yet it bends exactly like it did before this happened to it, and I still feel out of it as if it were skin. The band feels smooth and cool. I tip it over and it falls down to the base of my finger like a well oiled piston.

I look up to Basilisk with a shit eating grin on my face, waggling my fingers (and my newly acquired adornment for one) in his. But it’s lost any hardness in it. He’s not shocked, or in awe, but more aprasing of what happened. I assume there's microphones on my side for him to hear me too. "How's that! Good enough to get my call?"

He frowns again, but not in an upset way. I swore I could almost see him smile at first before he caught himself. "I'll think about it. I need you to do something else. One last thing for you to try." Oh my god, it never ends with him! "I want you to transform yourself." 

"What!" I back up from the window, and now he smirks at me. "What makes you think I can do that? Hell, what if that kills me?"

He has the nerve to shrug at me! "Don't turn into something that would kill you." Jackass. 

I could ignore him, tell him I can't or something. But… Not even just getting the call. Something inside me is burning with the idea. I need to know everything that I can do. Once again, I close my eyes, steady my breathing. Come on, magic fingers. Let's go for broke. One more thing. Turn my fist, I dunno, really beefy or something. I breathe in, feel the now telltale heat thrumming in my chest, and press my nails gently against the palm of my hand. 

The heat shoots to my fingers, but. Instead of the release being felt from before, it’s painful, bouncing back from the tips of my fingers back inwards. It dissipates though my muscles, back up my arms, though my body. Ow! It’s like electrocuting myself. After a moment it fades, but… 

I wait a few seconds, then a few minutes. No hissing. I don't feel anything shifting around. Maybe I'm being too ginger? Or I'm not waiting long enough? I clear my mind again, rev up the heat near my heart, and dig my nails in deeper. Please, come on. Please? I feel my fists shaking, but nothing else is happening. No hiss, no change, no anything. I try it again. And again. Come on, come on, come–

"Kid!" Something strikes the side of my face hard. I look up. Basilisk has entered the room, and slapped me against the face. "Knock it off. You're bleeding on my floor." 

I look down; at some point I ended up squatting back on the floor. The palms of my hands both have four pretty deep grooves in them, blood dripping down out of some of them, rolling down my wrist. Idly I try touching the nails of one hand against one of the cuts to try and heal it. But, again, nothing happens. It just stings a little. 

I wipe my hands on the tatters of my top. It doesn’t work like that, then. It must not be for anything organic. Ok, that's ok. At least I know I'm safe from myself. And I'm not a danger to others, either. I can control this. I can still transform the things I can touch. That's good enough. Better than good enough. That's pretty amazing, actually!

CassieSandwich

Hello Everyone! If you would like to support my work, or you would like to read the first seven chapters right now, or just want to have it on your ereader of choice, then please take note: There's a demo on my Itch.io page! Also on the subject of supporting me, I have just opened up a Patreon~

I'd also like to thank the lovely DarkSun Morrigan and the fantastic Trismegistus Shandy for their feedback and editing help during the writing process: go check out their works, they're both fantastic authors~ Me and Morri also have a discord channel open to the public if you'd like to interact with us!

Thank you so much for reading, and please! Feel free to comment below, or join in on the server. I always love to hear your feedback~