Cleaning supplies, those will have the chemicals I need. I quickly drop to my knees and start rummaging through them. A hand grips my ankle, and I turn my cold gaze upon the store owner. He's hurt badly, quite likely he won't survive until paramedics arrive. A bit of first aid would stabilize him though.

"P-please." He gurgles, squeezing hard on my ankle. A kick to the face makes him let go.

I open a coke and pour it out, replacing the contents with a precise mixture of chemicals. Holding it away from my face, I feel it heat up and let off a toxic vapor. Once it stops fizzing, I look around for the next thing I need.

Aluminum foil, torn into pieces and shoved in the bottle. The flakes blacken immediately, pulling out the chemicals I don't need into a solid state. Finished, I pull one of my own socks off, dousing it in the mixture. Like chloroform, I hold it against Madison's mouth and nose, encouraging her to breathe deeply. It will slow the bloodflow to her brain, preserving it until I can get her somewhere safe to operate.

She'll wake with a killer hangover, but at least she'll be awake.

* * *

Days.

It takes me days.

For the first two I'm terrified that someone noticed me piggybacking a mostly dead girl back home, but apparently no one cares in Brockton Bay. That collective apathy did me wonders.

A modified aquarium from my basement serves as the life support system, running oxygen to her brain and keeping her heart healthy in a broth of my own creation. It's crude, but I can't build anything better at the moment.

The rest of her body is propped up at the side of the room. It should bother me more, but for now it's just like a piece of furniture. "H-hey mom... Dad... It's me." I frown at the computer screen in front of me, using a voice synthesizer to try and get Madison's voice right. It's been days, and people are going to start asking questions. It's a small miracle no one's busted in here yet, due in small part to me preserving Madison's corpse well.

What I need is a distraction. A reason for Madison to disappear for a week or two, then reappear without too many questions asked. If the PRT or Police get involved, hiding what I've done will be next to impossible.

What I need, is a staged kidnapping. The Merchants will do as stooges, since this is all their fault anyways. Just something to convince the parents to be patient. All I need is time.

* * *

"Madison?" I look across at the dummy in front of me. It looks almost like a store mannequin, but more articulated. There's enough detail in just the face and torso to be considered a work of art by some. I can do better, but I need to work quickly. "Can you hear me?"

I need to make sure the wiring is properly in place. The containment unit, which houses all of her important organs, is a bulky thing on the table behind us. It's powered by some kind of energy drawn from her heart, like a battery, which runs through her brain and into the dummy. Like some kind of prosthetic body.

Right now I'm testing the audio interface, ensuring she can hear and speak. It's been five days, she must be terrified. "S-Sam?" Her voice crackles to life, sounding almost mechanical. "Where are you? Why can't I see? Why do I sound autotuned?"

"There was an accident. Do you remember?" I move over to inspect the connections, making sure everything is lit up and in working order. Maybe I can hook up the visual segment next?

"We were on a date." I give the doll a curious look at that, was it really? "Then... Oh god. I died."

"Only for a moment." I insist firmly. "You're alive now. I saved you, and I'm going to give you back a proper life."

"Where am I?"

"You're in a life support system right now. You'll need it, to stay alive. Can you see me?" I change the subject, flipping on the visual segment of the doll.

"I... Yes. It's blurry, and the colors are off though. It's like looking at a bad webcam." She replies, panic still in her voice. "Where am I Sam?"

I cringe, taking a deep breath and grabbing the doll's torso. "Don't freak out, please. I'll fix you, Madison, I promise." Turning the doll around, I let her look at the cylindrical object that holds her brain and heart. I have to turn the audio down, to make sure her screaming doesn't wake my parents.

* * *

Folding space.

I don't know where that concept fits into my 'tinker specialty', but it's there. The right lines, the right metals, the right amount of power and 'boom', pocket dimension.

It's a fascinating enough concept that I spend almost a day poking at it, trying to figure out not only the 'how', but where it would be useful. I let Madison have her freak out, getting it out of her system. I try to be supportive, but that sort of emotional thing is a little out of my depth.

The most obvious use is storage, placing one object inside of another. Holding all of my tools in a simple belt, holding more things inside of Madison's new body, even hiding away my workshop when I'm not using it. The sheer utility of it is staggering.

The major breakthrough comes when I realize that things inside of a pocket space can influence things outside of one, if the space is designed properly. A bit more tinkering allows me to seal the entirety of Madison's containment unit into a small golden disk, no larger than a silver dollar. Simply placing that inside of a reinforced segment of a puppet is much easier than trying to haul around the entire thing.

* * *

I watch as the skeletal form of Madison's new body carefully reaches out and attempts to grasp the pencil in front of her. Part of it is improving the interface, working on improving the finesse and responsiveness of each join. The other part is practice on her end, as the puppet isn't the same as her old body, despite what we'd both wish.

"Damn it." Her voice sounds better now, at least. We'd spent hours working out the kinks once she calmed down, perfecting the tone and pitch.

"Keep practicing, you've already improved quite a bit." Her gross motions were fine, she could walk, run, and even cartwheel across the basement with ease. Thanks, in part, to some of the simpler improvements on her new body. I had ideas, so many ideas. Hidden compartments, weapon emplacements, ideas to reinforce the structure and improve the strength of each joint.

I could make her body be able to fight on par with many of the super villains of the Bay, if I wanted to. If she wanted to, rather. I had no interest in drawing more attention to myself. If I got away with what I was doing, I would be content to just tinker in my workshop for the rest of my natural life.

Or unnatural life, as the case may be.

Personally, I think the only reason Madison was going along with this was for the opportunity to escape from my basement. I'll admit, what I was doing was a necessary cruelty. That, combined with the looming idea that only I would be able to maintain her new body...

I was now a necessity in Madison's life, like it or not. I don't really trust myself with that much power over someone.

"Come dance with me." She calls, standing up and stepping away from the table. She still insists on wearing clothing, despite being made almost entirely of reinforced wood. Already I have plans in motion to make her look human again.

Turning in my chair, I gesture at the spare dummy across the room. That same warm power flows through me, and I visualize strings attaching to key locations. With tremendous focus the puppet steps forwards with a human-like grace, bowing and offering a hand to my friend. She giggles and accepts it, spinning into a fast swing dance.

Little things like this are a distraction, but a necessary one. I'm infinitely grateful that Madison's mind seems elastic enough to snap back from this trauma, though I doubt it's as easy as it seems. Inwardly, I wonder if she would leave me, given the chance. If she could survive without me, or get her original body back, would she think I was a monster?

I like to think she's smart enough to do so.

* * *

"Hold still or I'll turn off your motor functions." I snap, watching her face regain its perfect stillness. Applying the synthetic flesh and skin is a tricky business, doubly so when Madison insists on being awake and aware through the process.

Each artificial muscle is designed to contract when the skeleton moves, just for the sake of appearances. They provide nothing but cosmetic benefit, but in a world of Thinkers, they are a necessity. The 'flesh' is similar, simply a compound used to mimic the texture and feeling of a normal human body.

There's probably something intimate about sculpting prefect replicas of your friend's bare breasts, checking for texture and firmness. Once you've been up to your shoulder in her corpse, I can honestly say any sort of embarrassment goes right out the window.

"I still can't feel any of that." She complains, closing her eyes as I spray the fake skin over the finished product. It really is a work of art.

"I can set up a system that lets you know when you're being touched, and where, but actual tactile sensation could take a lot of work." I explain, not looking up.

"Hmm... I want you to do it anyways. What's the point of being alive if you can't enjoy it." She grumbles. "Oh, and taste. Taste too."

"You don't need to eat." I point out halfheartedly. I'm in control of her life, yet she's my boss in the end.

"Sure I do. People will notice if I don't." Point. I'll need to place a disposal unit in her chest cavity then. More wasted space. "I want to be fully functional. Don't tell me you can't do it, I know you can."

"Fine. It'll take a lot of work, and rigorous testing, but I'll do my best." I sigh, watching as her face lights up in an almost evil smile. It's the kind of smile she gives me when she tricks me into saying something I didn't mean to say. Usually it'd fill me with dread. Now?

Watching her face, which looks almost completely human save for some necessary touch-ups to her complexion, make that familiar expression fills me with pride. I've done it. I've given her back her body, and her life. I've technically revived the dead, and made her so much better.

I'm not out of the woods yet, of course, it'll be an ongoing thing. But for now?

"Alright, let's finish your make up, and you can go see your parents. They must be worried sick."

Eruption

(Автор: Mr_John)

Fuck!

I covered my head as best I could, futilely trying to protect my hair. The rain of juice continued, soaking into my clothes, the sound of liquid splashing across the tiles combining with the giggles and outright laughter. It only took seconds for the downpour to end, but in that time all of my clothes and a large part of my backpack were ruined. The empty carton dropped down and bounced off my head with a dull thunk, adding injury to insult. The giggles faded as my tormentors left the bathroom. I had to fight the insane urge to run after them, tackle one and just punch until my hands were red with blood.

It took a long couple of minutes before the rage subsided. These days, I was hiding from the trio more to avoid the slowly growing chance that I'd strangle one to death than to escape the taunts and pranks. After the locker, after the hour I spent in hell and the complete lack of vengeance that followed, something broke. I had lived an eternity in the filth and trash, every moment killing a little more of my faith in humanity. It wasn't enough. I was tough. I was stubborn. I was a mountain in the face of a temporary thunderstorm. I was going to survive the a trio, I was going to college, I was going to become an English teacher like mom, and no amount of bullying was going to stop me. What I hadn't realized was that people were, as a rule, disgusting animals.

Even a mountain wears away. As disgusting as the locker was, it didn't break me. That came after. That came from the uncaring nurses who would rather hit me with another dose of drugs than spend a minute to talk. That came from the fake sympathy handed out by the principal. That came from the look on my father's face when he realized that the school was paying him hush money for my injuries.

People were beasts. Looking out for themselves, uncaring for others except as tools and toys. There were exceptions. My father ground himself to the bone for his people at the docks— and what came of it? Upper management denied him funds, jobs, any hope at all. The people he worked until four in the morning for went to the gangs. My mother loved dad and I so much— and some asshole who couldn't look where he was driving took her from us.

With the realization came a choice. I could fall apart. I could die— suicide, or maybe go out with a gun and start killing Merchants until I was shot in return. I could become a comatose little girl, unable to handle the truth. Spend my time on a hospital bed, or inside a straitjacket. I could take vengeance for myself, beat Emma to death with my bare hands.

Of course, I wouldn't do any of these things. With the clarity that I gained came power, and not just the clear sight that came with the ability to see past the bullshit humans pasted over everything— laws, innate morality, the social contract.

As I reflected on the past, the ground rumbled faintly, barely enough to vibrate. My clothes began to steam, the juice evaporating. Little flashes of red seemed to flicker around my clenched hands, and I could barely repress the desire to explode.

The mountain could've worn away, crumbled into sand and mud. It could've succumbed to the storm, blowing away as salt in the wind. But it didn't.

I didn't.

Instead, I erupted.

I'm Halping

(Автор: The Shadowmind)

God Mode

Powers

Twins:Null/Zero(JailBroken)1

Twins: Two(JailBroken)2

Twins: Panacea

Twins: Echidna(JailBroken)3

Twins: Blasto