“Pardon the intrusion. I am McCarthy, one of our good Mayor’s humble servants. May I come in?” asked the man now known as McCarthy. He seemed completely unperturbed by the bloody scene inside the room and the fact that he was talking through a hole in the wall. Ryan was suddenly glad he’d gotten rid of the chrysalis. That would’ve given him away quickly, he imagined.

Michael, the not-screaming one, was the first to respond. “Of course. We’ll help if we can, though Mr. Reynolds hasn’t been seen at the hospital since the change.” The clone missing an arm lifted his new stub, bit down hard on his shirt, and headed for the door. McCarthy looked briefly puzzled at the response, then nodded and withdrew.

Michael’s clone opened the door to a heavily muscled man in a dark suit standing in the entrance. Behind him were two athletic women with long blond hair, bright green eyes and pointed ears. Each wore nothing more than blue jeans and a tightly fitted grey shirt with a sword held loosely in one hand. They were clearly twins, Ryan realized, and the beautiful pair looked as if they’d stepped directly out of a fantasy novel.

“Pardon me, young man.” McCarthy said politely, stepping slightly out of the way of the injured clone. With a glance behind him at the other clone, the injured one turned down the hallway. McCarthy patted him consolingly on the shoulder as he went and added helpfully. “The emergency wing was on the first floor, though it may be easier just to be reabsorbed by your prime.”

The injured clone paused, his blood splattering down to the floral print hospital tiles. Then he nodded and continued down the hallway towards both the elevators and where the others had been talking. Ryan could feel the clone next to him tense. Had the man guessed Michael’s power that quickly? Just from seeing two of them?

It was time to see who they were dealing with. Ryan focused on McCarthy first and activated his power. He was used to bringing up hypotheticals now, so he dismissed the improve strength message as soon as it appeared.

Name: Chester McCarthy

Age: 35

Race: Human (Super)

Attributes:

Strength: 17

Dexterity: 14

Constitution: 16

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 12

Charisma: 15

Superpower(s):

Power Recognition: Able to discern the power and energy capacity of anyone touched.

Physical Status: Adrenaline

Mental Status: Excited

A cold shiver of fear shot down Ryan’s back. McCarthy could identify powers! That’s how he’d known about Michael’s power. It apparently let him recognize duplicates as well. The perfect person to send to find other supers, he realized. Ryan couldn’t let the man touch him. Even with his low energy capacity, just the description on his power would probably mean a trip to Marcus.

Gritting his teeth, he checked the two sword-wielding models behind McCarthy and felt the fear inside start to grow.

Name: Jessica Montreal

Age: 23

Race: Wood Elf - a race of evolved humans with enhanced capabilities stemming from multiple mythos.

Attributes:

Strength: 24

Dexterity: 41

Constitution: 34

Intelligence: 17

Wisdom: 14

Charisma: 25

Superpower(s): None.

Physical Status: Well rested

Mental Status: Alert

Forty one dexterity?! That was over ten times his own and more than triple almost anyone else he’d looked at so far. Ryan was still learning what each stat stood for, but in most RPGs dexterity was a measure of how nimble one could move. If that was accurate, no wonder they had swords instead of guns. These women could probably cut a man to pieces before he could even aim at them.

The other twin’s name was Janna, he discovered. Janna’s page was a mirror image of her twin’s.

And they were elves. Superhumans, elves, and whatever Sherry was… The world had changed quite a bit. He wondered if the racial tensions from the stories would bleed through now that humanity was evolving into entirely different races. Whether someone was white or black would probably matter a whole lot less with elves and dwarves running around. Would these new races hate each other already, like they did in Tolkien’s novels?

Ryan shook those thoughts off. Now was not the time. He’d missed whatever exchange McCarthy and the other Michael had while he was reviewing the trio’s pages.

McCarthy extended a hand and Michael clasped it. “I appreciate the offer.” Michael said with a smile that didn’t match his eyes. “But my… ‘prime’ is still considering the last one. If he accepts, we’ll come to you.”

The suited man nodded, then looked at Ryan. “And who is this young man? What can he do?” McCarthy started towards Ryan, but Michael stepped into the way. “He--”

“People who touch me explode. I can’t control it, either....” Ryan answered in a dejected voice. Then he gestured towards the hole in the wall. “That’s what happened to him… Michael’s clones have been trying to help me control it, I thought I had it but… ” Ryan hung his head, trying to appear defeated. “Apparently not.”

Michael picked up on the deception immediately. “Sorry, I wouldn’t advise getting closer. That’s the first time he hasn’t killed me outright. Progress, but not something I’d risk if you don’t come back like we do.

McCarthy’s face blanched and the two elves behind him looked curiously at Ryan. The big man took several quick steps back. “Uhh… No. That won’t be necessary.”

Michael smirked. Ryan decided to sell the act and sat down, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I'm sorry. I tried…" he said pitifully. It felt a bit much, but it had the intended effect.

"Right. Well… We'll leave you to it then." McCarthy said as he straightened his suit jacket. "If Mr. Reynolds does make an appearance--"

"You'll be the first one I call." Michael finished. The large man nodded, then looked back over at Ryan again. "Chin's up lad. You'll get ahold of it eventually." Ryan gave him a weak grin, which McCarthy returned, and the trio walked off.

Ryan let out a sigh of relief as the footsteps faded down the hall. Michael's clone looked over at him. "That was good." He said approvingly. Then the clone pulled a walkie talkie out of his pocket and shut the door. He flicked it on and began relaying information into it. Telling his 'prime' what had just happened in case the mayor’s goons came by.

"Right back atcha." Ryan quipped. He could kick himself. It hadn’t occurred to him that his story would get checked. The lie had been a spur of the moment thing because of how McCarthy's power worked. But since the others didn't know, it could easily have been proven false. These were the kind of simple mistakes that could get people hurt.

McCarthy, despite his power, was little more than human. A heavily muscled one, but he was at least a threat they could handle. The elf twins on the other hand…

Ryan didn’t have an answer for them. And he was getting tired of playing the passive role. He’d spent years being the injured boy everyone had felt sorry for. Living like that had eaten him alive. Day after day of… pity.

But he wasn’t that man any more. He was a superhuman now. He had power. And it was about damn time he started using it. Ryan summoned up his character screen.

Yeah… It was time to make some changes. Starting with himself. Ryan excused himself to the bathroom. Once alone with the porcelain throne - where all great decisions were pondered - he sat down to think.

He could raise his strength. That’d give him more ways to punch his problems. At a paltry 40 points, increasing it was well within his capacity. Ryan wouldn’t even have to eat to recover what he’d lose from that change. Raising it again though cost an additional 10 points ontop of the previous cost each time. Which, with some quick mental math, meant he could raise his strength to a whopping… 7.

Not exactly Hulk material. He couldn’t beat Michael in an arm wrestling contest with 7, but it was a start. Of sorts, anyway. Ryan looked at his skeleton-esque arms. If he hit anyone with them, they were just as liable to break as his target. Maybe more so. He’d have to raise his constitution as well otherwise he could break his own arm…

Then again… he was an editor. His power let him edit anything, right? Not just simple stats.

Besides, Ryan was an engineer for goodness’ sake. He’d studied the composition of various materials for years. Why stop at more muscle mass when he had all of science to choose from? No, strength could wait. What he needed right now was something every engineer learned to capitalize on. Good, ol’ fashioned, creativity.

What he needed more than anything else right now was protection. Humans were squishy. Skin was great for keeping dirt and bacteria out, not so much for bullets. Or swords wielded by super-fast elves. But what if it was? Could he edit his skin to made of something more durable? Like steel or even diamond?

Ryan briefly imagined himself strutting around a battlefield with diamond skin - impervious to everything around him.

Except, that wasn’t how reality worked. Diamonds might be the hardest known material, but they weren’t the toughest. Hardness only measured a material’s resistance to scratching. Toughness was what measured its resistance to breakage - like from falls or an impact. Which, if he was being shot at, is what he wanted. Impact resistance. Without that, a shot at the right angle could shatter his ‘skin’.

Lord only knows how much that would hurt. Still, he wondered what it would cost to have a diamond-skin body. If only for academia’s sake.

Would you like to upgrade your skin’s hardness to that of diamond? Cost: 20,000 points.

Hu-uh. That was… actually not as bad as he’d been expecting. Ryan supposed it made sense. The human body was mostly made up of only 4 elements, and one of those was carbon. Diamonds were pure carbon, so the change must not be that difficult. Still, twenty thousand points was beyond him. If he could make the change incrementally then maybe he’d--

Ryan stopped mid-thought and pulled up his power once more.

Would you like to upgrade 1% of your skin’s hardness to that of diamond? Cost: 200 points. Yes, or no?

Hah! It worked! Even better, he could afford it! But 1% would still be next to useless if it was only one spot on him. If Ryan could move that 1% around… Then he’d be in business. Attempting to adjust the prompt, he found he could add another condition to it with a simple thought.

Condition added: At-will relocation of body hardness. Condition cost: 25 points. Yes, or no?

Ryan grinned. He loved seeing a plan come together. He chose yes.

Immediately, he felt what must have been almost his entire left butt cheek begin to tighten and sear. Ryan hopped up off the toilet and tried to dance around a bit to lessen the pain. Why did it always have to hurt? And why there!?

Ryan was grateful he hadn’t actually attempted to use his throne before this. If he’d been mid-business that might’vebeen… messy.

As the pain wore off, weariness washed over him like a beach wave crushing a sandcastle. He suddenly felt like he’d run several miles and then hiked even more. Ryan checked his energy capacity and saw that it was at just 5 of 230. Well, that explains it. What did you think would happen, using all your energy at once? He thought, admonishing himself.

Thankfully, like all his changes, the transformation hadn’t taken long. His booty felt a bit heavier than it had before - a good bit more, actually. But it wasn’t too bad. Though his butt felt like it was sagging now. Ryan was briefly worried about his precious buns falling off completely but his skin seemed to hold well enough. It just sagged a bit. As if he were much older and his body had given up keeping things taut.

Change confirmed, now on to the condition he’d added. Ryan tried to will the hard spot onto his arm for closer inspection. A sensation of tightness flowed across his skin to condense in a rock-like reflective patch on his forearm. It was larger than he’d thought 1% would be, now that he looked at it. Measuring with his thumb, Ryan estimated the now diamond-hard patch of protection he had was least 20 or so square inches.

Ben, his nerdy bio major friend, had once told him that adult humans were made up of around 2 square meters of skin a piece. He’d followed that tidbit with another, loudly sharing - in front of god and everybody else headed into class - that skin only accounted for about 8 pounds of your total weight. About the same as a newborn, if you thought about it. Wasn’t that cool?

…

Ben was weird sometimes.

But, it turns out, not wrong. Ryan hadn’t expected to use that odd bit of trivia, but he mentally thanked his old study buddy all the same.

Experimenting a bit, Ryan found that he didn’t actually have to keep the diamond patch all in one spot. If he tried to move it a little at a time some of it would break off from the main patch and flow to the new spot. Several moments of intense concentration later and he managed to cover all the knuckles on both hands. Ryan stared at his new rockfists.

Diamondfists. He mentally corrected. Then he flexed his fingers, watching the skin move as if nothing had changed. These would be much more effective than more strength. Later on, that is. Once he could put some actual power behind them. For now though…

Ryan concentrated on moving the entire mass to his chest. Statistically, that was probably the best place to leave it if he wasn’t going to use it. And his handy hospital gown covered it well enough that nobody could really tell. It was a smaller patch than he’d hoped it would be, but it was something. Enough to make a difference. If he was lucky.

Wait. Could he change someone’s luck? What would that even look like? Ryan decided to leave that line of questioning alone for now. It wasn’t listed as one of the stats and he doubted he could afford it anyway. The land around here had enough chaos as it was without him trying to warp fate to his favor.

Besides. Now that he had a decent bank of points to spend…

It was time to see about upgrading his friends.

Time to finally get out of this godforsaken hospital he’d been trapped in for years...

And time to figure out what to do about Marcus before the mayor’s beautiful elven thugs beat him to a pulp once McCarthy figured out he’d been lied to. Though Ryan hadn’t seen any nurses around since he woke up, he imagined it wouldn’t be long before someone found out what he was given the bounty on his head.

Just one step at a time. He reminded himself as he left the bathroom. One potentially fatal step at time.