PWP: 6.5.5 Amy Dallon

Interlude 6.5.5: Amy Dallon

Amy Dallon
2011, January 9: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Sometimes, I wondered how my life had turned out this way. When I first became Panacea, I hadn’t planned to end up in an abandoned warehouse with a biotinkered fruit. I most certainly hadn’t planned to give it to a Case-53 in what had to be the shadiest human trial since whatever the fuck the Soviets did during the Cold War. And yet, here I was, about to do exactly that.

If anyone I knew at the hospital saw me like this, they’d scream bloody murder. The warehouse wasn’t exactly sanitary, though Bryce did manage to drag a cot over from somewhere. No one here had any experience conducting clinical trials. There was zero oversight whatsoever from a medical body. In short, we looked like quacks, like back alley doctors who’d stitch someone up and take a kidney as payment, or smuggle a baggie of cocaine in their patients’ bowels.

But… But there was a thrill here that I couldn’t explain. It went against everything I knew about sound medical procedure, but I was making a difference. I wasn’t just fixing an injury or curing a disease, I was potentially doing something groundbreaking, something that would alter the course of history as we knew it.

I took out the devil fruit. It was about the size of a handball and colored a bright red that seemed to give off its own light. It also had deep, spiraling grooves that textured the peel in a way that reminded me of a human brain. There was a certain gravitas to it that I couldn’t explain. Just looking at it made me feel as if I was holding someone’s life in my hands.

Then again, that was exactly what I was doing. Devil fruits… I’d laughed at the name at first, but now, I couldn’t help but wonder. Almost like making a deal with the devil, this was it. Once you ate one, there was no going back. It was the raw potential for change, and, I hoped, the potential for a new life.

My hands were trembling with nerves. Still, I took a deep breath. Bryce was right; I had to be the one to take the lead here. “Right, this is a devil fruit. Let me explain how this works before you eat it.”

Trainwreck looked at the fruit. “No offense, but that shit looks eerie.”

“Can’t help it. I didn’t make this, just the final tweaks.”

“Fine, whatever. This thing will make me human?”

“It should. As we’ve covered before, this is a devil fruit. More specifically, it is something called an artificial zoan. It can be infused with a template of an animal, which is then used to modify the consumer’s physiology. Basically, you can turn into whatever template this has been infused with.”

“And that’s human.”

“Yes. Theoretically, consuming this will give you the ability to switch between your current form and a humanoid, hybrid form.”

“Not fully human though. What’s with that?”

“The hito hito no mi is special amongst zoans,” Bryce cut in. “When a person eats a zoan with a regular animal, he gains the ability to turn into that animal, or become a hybrid, kind of like a werewolf. But the hito hito is special. The primary benefit of this fruit is not that you physically become a human, but that you gain what most people would define as humanity: intelligence, empathy, understanding, the capacity for growth.”

“That makes no fucking sense, man. You’re telling me that this thing won’t fix me?”

“We covered this before, Trainwreck. It will give you a more conventionally acceptable form and help you live a normal life. I said it before and I’ll say it now: We truly don’t know how close to human a ‘humanoid form’ will be. You’re the test case, for good and for ill.”

He stewed in silent frustration. Finally, he let out a deep sigh of defeat. “Should’ve known it was too good to be true.”

“For what it’s worth, we’re sorry we don’t know,” I said gently. Vicky always said I had terrible bedside manners, but I could see how much this meant to him. “All I can promise is that I’ve checked over the fruit and it won’t harm you.”

“I get it. It can’t get any worse, right? Fuck it, let’s do this.”

“Then please get out of your armor.”

He did so. He knelt on the ground and the chest area popped open with a pneumatic hiss. He didn’t so much walk out as plop down onto the mattress. Though his face was more or less normal, his blob-like limbs were more like large, blunt tentacles than arms and legs.

I kept my face stoic, but I couldn’t help the pang of unease at his appearance. I didn’t feel disgust; I felt fascination. I wanted to know how his body worked, how his limbs could be pseudopod equivalents yet still allow him to navigate a powersuit.

And that only made me feel guilty. He was a patient, not a test subject. Maybe if I told myself that enough times, I wouldn’t enjoy this so much.

I took one, fleshy “hand.” It felt almost rubbery, almost like the body of a squid. “Right. I’m going to take recorded notes on your biology to establish a baseline. Then, we’ll have you eat the fruit. I’ll continue to hold your hand so I can observe the change in real time.”

“Fine, sounds real professional,” he grunted.

Consent received, I began to speak. SAINT would pick it up, I knew.

I covered as much as I could, from the way his corona and polentia took over sections of his brain to the way his body formed his pseudopods and integrated them with his torso.

I especially made sure to take into account the things my power didn’t like; those were more important than the biological marvels I saw. There were sections of his biology that made zero sense. Hormone receptors didn’t line up with the ions used. Cells seemed to spontaneously reshape themselves even though they lacked the triggers to do so.

I saw what Bryce had meant. Trainwreck’s Shard was asserting itself in a way that forcibly imposed this form, even as it glossed over the health complications it would normally cause. He wasn’t a “monstrous” cape because he was a biological freak. His Shard was monstrous because it was an aberration, something that completely ignored the most foundational rules that defined a biological organism.

After nearly twenty minutes of narration, I stopped. “I’m done. You can eat the fruit now.”

“Got it. This… What’s this taste like, anyway?” he asked. I could feel his heart beat faster. Nerves, not that I could blame him.

“Shit. Creed says it’ll taste like shit, the most disgusting thing you’ve ever put in your mouth. My power doesn’t tell me much on that front. I did try upping the carbohydrate count, but that messed with the fruit’s chemical balance. You’ll just have to take his word for it.”

“Well, fuck. I need to eat the whole thing?”

“A bite will do. Just be sure to swallow it.”

“Fine. If this kills me, fuck you.”

I laughed even though it wasn’t funny. “Fair enough.”

He took a bite. His face scrunched up with anticipated revulsion. And then, there was nothing. His throat didn’t seize. He didn’t convulse. 

The piece of fruit sank into Trainwreck’s stomach before dissolving into his intestines. And then… nothing happened, at least outwardly. Or internally for that matter. It was as if the fruit vanished from existence, there one moment, gone seconds later.

I glanced towards Bryce. He didn’t say anything so I took that to mean nothing was supposed to happen. Maybe he was messing with me and the fruit tasted fine?

That was… good… but I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. The fruit had felt so momentous in my hand, a raw nugget of potential, that the effect felt a little underwhelming.

Sabah handed Trainwreck a bottle of water.

Trainwreck shrugged and took a drink, gargling his mouth out. He then took another bite of the fruit, then another. “You know, this isn’t that bad. I mean, it’s not great, but I don’t know what you were on about.”

Bryce looked at him, head tilted in askance. “It doesn’t taste bad? Really?”

“No. Should it?”

“I… I thought it would… Huh… Well, maybe I’m getting my notes mixed up… Did SMILES have a specific flavor…?” he muttered to himself.

I shook my head and gave his hand a squeeze. “Whatever. Forget about the flavor. Do you feel any different?”

“No, I don’t,” Trainwreck said. “Should I?”

“No. You’re not any different so you shouldn’t feel any different.”

“Then this was just a waste of time, huh?” he asked bitterly. There was a rawness in his voice that replaced his usual abrasiveness. It was the dejection of someone who, for a moment, allowed himself to hope.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bryce chimed in again. “Have you already forgotten what Panacea told you? Consuming a devil fruit allows you to shift into another form.”

He looked down at himself. His pseudopods wiggled helplessly. “So I still look like this because…”

“Because the goal was never to alter your current form as a Case-53. Truthfully, I don’t think that’s possible in the first place. Like we explained previously, your power has a template, the shape that your body is supposed to be, and considers this shape your ‘normal.’ Your power will insist upon this shape.”

“It’s why I wasn’t able to heal a Case-53 in the past,” I agreed.

“But, an artificial zoan doesn’t try to directly replace this template. It instead tries to give you a changer form you can put on and take off like a shirt.”

“I… Alright, fine. How do I change, Creed?”

“Want it. Will it. It really is that simple. Devil fruits are biological, but they’re also something more.”

“Wow, that helps. Are you going to sell me healing crystals next?”

“You already ate the fruit so you may as well try.”

The ornery cape grumbled, then closed his eyes.

I still held one pseudopod. I saw everything. And yet, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. The shift was indescribable. The words that so often popped into my mind failed to appear.

Theoretically, that should have been impossible. My power gave me perfect knowledge of biology, even Bryce said so. And yet, that knowledge couldn’t describe what was happening in front of me. The changes being made were individually understandable, but as a whole, there was something that went beyond the scope of my power.

It reminded me of when I observed Bryce healing someone. Alchemy, he called it. Rather than inflate someone’s lungs, he’d literally deconstructed, then remade them wholesale, as if that was easier than telling organic matter where to go. Maybe for him, it was. Back then, I couldn’t determine where he’d gotten the energy to do that, only that the lungs were perfect afterwards.

That was how powers were, sometimes. I knew that, but at least when it happened with a parahuman, I could tell the power came from the corona polentia. There was a connection to the Shard, and that Shard provided the energy. Nonsensical maybe, but there was a clear input-output. Bryce’s corona was a bit weird, but he did have one so I’d chalked his alchemy up to that. Or maybe the ley lines and “breath of the world” thing he talked about was real.

Either way, neither option applied to devil fruits.

Trainwreck’s corona was a mess, as all Case-53s’ were. It was as if someone went into a butcher shop and slapped together random cuts to make a “cow.” And it definitely wasn’t the thing that was powering these changes.

Nor could the changes have been powered by the fruit. I knew exactly how much potential energy was in the fruit. In terms of kilocalories, it wasn’t much more than a normal pomegranate. Last I checked, the fruit wasn’t dimensionally layered, either. It was a cluster of hormones and amino acids  and RNA sequences that could trigger the changes, but not power them.

Or, that's what I’d thought. I was clearly wrong. Which made me wonder just what else I was wrong about.

I put that out of mind. Did it really matter so long as the results were sound? Trainwreck’s biology was morphing as I watched. I could quite literally feel his pseudopod becoming more humanoid.

Tiny calcium deposits coagulated until they formed a skeleton. His fleshy membrane parted and split, forming fingers. Keratin capped each fingertip, becoming blunted nails. These changes repeated themselves fourfold, until finally, he sat in awe, looking at his new body.

His fingers twitched in my hand. They gripped my own with unexpected softness, as if he was afraid they’d melt back into that fleshy mass again if he put too much strain on them.

“H-Holy shit… I… I have fingers!” he gasped. It sounded a little ridiculous, but the sheer awe in his voice made the thought of mocking him unthinkable.

My power continued to feed me details about his new form. He was human for the most part. His bones had grown where they were supposed to be. Tendons attached as they should and the placement of his blood vessels was within human norms.

Except, Bryce had been right. In the world that inspired the devil fruit, he said there was someone who’d eaten a “human human” fruit, some kind of reindeer-sasquatch hybrid called Chopper. And, though Chopper dearly wished to fit in, he never quite could become a human. He always had antlers, and a bright, blue nose… because apparently, reindeers had blue noses in his fantasy world.

That sounded like bullshit to me. I wondered if Bryce had missed his calling as a fantasy writer. Then again, if his power fed him technology in the form of contrived narratives about the power of friendship, who was I to question it?

All I knew was that the story was correct, at least where the hybrid was concerned. Trainwreck’s skin was a bit clammy to the touch. It looked it, too. It was glossy, almost as if it belonged on a snail rather than a person. He had all the right parts; he was just… a little squishy…

That was odd. Maybe there was something to this whole “humanity is defined in terms of the mind,” thing that Bryce was on about earlier. Either way, I was just happy that Trainwreck’s Shard didn’t seem to be reasserting itself.

“Now turn back,” Bryce commanded.

“Huh? You want me to turn back?” our patient asked. “Why?”

“Always best to know how to turn off a new power, Trainwreck.”

“Yeah, fine. It’s like… It’s like there’s a mental switch that I can push. Can’t really explain it.”

He switched back and forth a few times. Then, he stood and took his first steps.

Or, he tried.

Sabah caught him as he slumped forward. “Be careful.”

“Thanks. I… What’s going on?”

“Let me see… Everything looks fine… right, Panacea?”

“It is,” I confirmed. “His muscles should be strong enough to support his weight. At a guess, it’s because his brain isn’t used to moving his four limbs like a human, kind of like a coma patient waking up and having to learn how to walk again.”

Trainwreck let go of Sabah and allowed himself to fall back onto the mattress. “Well, fuck…”

“See? That’s why switching back is important. You’re going to want to get back in your armor so you can move around,” Bryce said glibly. Sabah reached over to elbow him in the ribs.

“Yeah, I get it. Still… thanks…”

“You’re not mad?” I asked hesitantly. I looked at his arms meaningfully. “You still look…”

“Like a freak? You can say it, Panacea. I look like I have some kind of skin condition, but that sure as shit beats being a fucking potato with snail feet instead of limbs.”

“You’ll want to practice every day. I could probably get you a walker.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m a tinker. Maybe not as bullshit as that asshat over there, but I can build myself a fucking walker,” he said, with perhaps the first honest smile I’d seen on him. There was an authenticity to it that I hadn’t seen in a long time.

No, that wasn’t right. That genuine gratitude was always there in the people I healed. Maybe not every one of them, but enough that it was a common sight. Trainwreck wasn’t the only person who felt hope because of my actions.

Maybe that was the problem. Humans could get used to anything if it was commonplace enough. But gratitude like this? Real, soul-deep, life-changing gratitude? I felt that this wasn’t the kind of thing that should be dismissed as routine.

A part of the reason I hated the hospital was that I felt burnt out. I felt like people only saw my power, like I was a pencil, slowly being worn out until just a nub remained. But looking at him, I was starting to realize that I too had grown callous. I started dismissing the gratitude people expressed as just another part of my routine, or worse, something that only existed for Panacea and not Amy Dallon.

I didn’t like this feeling. Helping Trainwreck like this was almost like holding a mirror up to my experiences at the hospital. I could reflect on what I did there, and I… I didn’t like the kind of person I’d become.

Most of the time, I couldn’t be bothered to give a damn about my patients’ opinions of me. It was easier to get through the day when I stopped caring. Mom didn’t mind, so long as I went through the motions. The results were the same, right? People got fixed. I got praised. New Wave stayed relevant.

“So… What now?” I asked, largely to distract myself from my internal turmoil. “You still remember your weakness to water, right?”

“Yeah, I remember. I’m going to figure out how to walk. Then, I guess I’ll wear gloves and long sleeves,” he replied. “I figure I’ll head inland, somewhere I won’t have to worry about drowning as much. “

“Toybox is another option,” Bryce said. “They’re rogues, and pretty good about sharing resources among tinkers.”

Trainwreck shook his head. “Nah, that’s not me. You know how my power is. I can’t make the fancy shit, just shit that lasts.”

“That’s got worth on its own, you know. Very few tinkertech have the kind of stability that yours does.”

“That won’t let me bargain with them though. I might consider it when I get more settled. I don’t like taking charity. Who knows? Maybe I’ll give this whole hero thing a try. That’s what The GOAT wants from me, right?”

“I think she’d just be satisfied if you didn’t do anything terrible. But if you do…” I trailed off.

“I know. Then she sends that bastard after me,” he said, thumbing towards Bryce. “I won’t. I figure I owe her one anyway. I won’t make any trouble for her.”

Bryce set down a duffel bag that looked comically small compared to Trainwreck’s armor. “Here. Consider this a care package to get you started.”

“Really? Protectorate Pals?”

“It’s supposed to look childish. No one will think there’s anything valuable in here.”

“Fair enough. What’s in it?”

“For starters, the bag is one of my expanded models. Its carrying capacity is about the same as a small sedan. You’ll find a notebook inside. The first page has a list of everything. The second page has some thoughts I had about your power. Nothing as helpful as The GOAT’s expertise, of course, just a few amateur guesses.”

“Amateur guesses, huh?”

“Yup. In case you wanted to rebrand. Not many people know your name anyway, but if you ever wanted to cut ties with Brockton for good and stop being Trainwreck, now’s your best chance.”

“I hear you.”

“The bag’s also about halfway full with canned food, water, ten grand, and a phone that’ll connect no matter where you are. The phone comes with a good map if you need it.”

“Huh… Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. If you ever come up with a civilian name for yourself, I can also get you papers and make up some tragic backstory to explain why you’re wandering the country. I can even get you medical records that say you’ve got bad scars from wrestling a bear or something, which would explain why you don’t like short sleeves.”

“A bear? Really? But you’re right. Can’t be Trainwreck full-time anymore.I’ll think about it.”

“You could, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Being an outed cape isn’t worth the hassle,” I replied dryly.

“And The GOAT will do that? Make a background for me? She’s got that kind of pull, huh?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Bryce nodded, full well knowing he’d just have SAINT hack Trainwreck into existence. Sabah or Bryce probably could do it just as easily, no cyber-duck required. “Just give us a call and we’ll get you sorted. We can even have Strider express deliver your new ID card wherever you go so don’t worry about that.”

“Shit, that’s… That’s the most anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Maybe, but all we’re doing is giving you a chance. If you don’t like charity, think of this as payment for being our clinical test subject. How you live your life is up to you. Find something worth living for, Trainwreck.”

“I guess I will.” He sank into his powersuit with the soft hiss of steam. Standing, he began to lumber out towards his slice of the trainyard. “So long… Actually, does your crew even have a name, Creed?”

“The GOAT leads us towards greatness. We strive for the summit, like the noble goat. We are wise, like the bearded goat. We crush all obstacles, like the horned goat. We are her humble followers upon the trail she treads. We are therefore known as her Humble Flock,” Bryce said solemnly, like the smug little shit he was.

“We’re not,” Sabah and I chorused as one. We looked at each other. Unspoken yet in sync, we solemnly swore to come up with a name before Bryce made us sound any more like a cult than we already did.

“We’re working on it,” I said, before Bryce could ruin our image further.

Author’s Note

Decided Amy’s perspective was more important here than Bryce’s.

Trainwreck has a hybrid form. Alpha testing is a success. New products to come soon.

Give me team name ideas, lol. It took this long before I finally realized I still had no idea what to call Creed’s faction. I think I planned on coming up with a name eventually, then just… kicked the can down the road… almost 400k words later…

Animal Fact: Apparently, the human anus can stretch up to 8 inches with preparation. I’ve not been able to fact-check this one so I guess this one’s not really a fact. Unless one of you is feeling adventurous…?

What I have been able to fact-check is that a grown raccoon can fit through a space as small as three or four inches in diameter. Which means if the previous is true, the human anus can accommodate two, whole raccoons.

You’re welcome.