Heal Thy Self Book 1 free porn video

Heal Thy Self Book 1 By Paradox Somewhere in San Francisco It was cold, rainy, and miserable that night as I walked along the dark streets. It reflected my mood perfectly as I ineffectually tried to pull the collar of my windbreaker a little higher against my neck. For maybe the hundredth time, I questioned the wisdom and sanity of my decision to run away from home. Of course, I could barely complete that thought before the last two years of my life flooded into the forefront of my brain and easily crushed any second-guessing into oblivion. There was no way I could go back to what, in truth, couldn't even be called a home without a shiver of horror going down my spine. If I had stayed there, for maybe even one more day, I had serious doubts that I would still even be alive. Oh sure, thoughts like that could easily be chalked up to the overactive imagination of a sixteen-year-old, but I think in my case it held a bit more weight. When I was fourteen, my parents died after they had been broadsided on their way home from dinner by a girl who thought it was perfectly fine to be cruising down city streets doing sixty miles per hour while having a lengthy chat on her phone's instant messenger. I suppose some would say I could take solace in the fact that they died instantly, as did the driver who apparently also thought seat belts were for the uncool until she met her windshield, and the pavement, very intimately. Those people have undoubtedly never lost their parents, their only family in the world, at a young age. I had no grandparents, no aunts, uncles, or cousins any times removed. My parents were all I had and I had loved them with everything in my heart. The night that the police detectives came and told me what happened...well, I don't exactly remember what happened for the next several hours. I'm pretty sure I just sat there in shock while the detectives and social worker talked to me, offering sympathies and assurances that everything would be okay. Though I hardly remembered any of it, I do remember one of the detectives, Sarah Hamlin, didn't bother trying to heap sugary promises for the future on me. While the other detective and the social worker were off in another room discussion the logistics of my placement in a home, she just sat next to me and held my hand or rubbed my shoulder. She even held me when I just broke down into heart-wrenching sobs and gently shushed me like one would do with an infant. In the end, when the social worker had come to a decision about my family placement, Detective Hamlin gave me her business card and told me to call her if I ever needed anything, at any time. That was the last good memory I had for the next two years. To this day, even with my expanded knowledge of how badly broken the legal and child welfare system is, I still don't know how an agency, whose one and only responsibility is to the care and safety of children, could put me into such an horrific environment. I was taken from my home and brought from my modestly well to-do community to a definitively low- class area of the city. Now, when I say low-class, I don't mean in the snooty way rich folks like to look down on people who live in relatively nice homes in the suburbs. I mean low-class, as in a tiny two bedroom apartment in a neighborhood infested with gangs, drug dealers and users, prostitutes, and I didn't even want to know what else. My new "family" was a man and woman named Harold and Jackie Smith. When I was first introduced to them, even in my state of shock, I still looked at the social worker in utter confusion. Harold himself was in his forties, balding, and had answered the door in dirty sweatpants and an equally dirty "wife-beater" undershirt. Jackie, his late-thirties wife, had stringy blonde hair that was obviously from a bottle and wore nothing more than a pair of dirty cutoffs and a very well-worn tank top. Initially I thought maybe they just weren't expecting us, but two seconds later Harold and the social worker, whose name I couldn't ever remember even hearing, started talking and I knew we had been expected. In short order, a few papers were signed and Harold and Jackie were suddenly my legal guardians. I didn't really grasp the full concept of this until about five minutes after the social worker left and I was introduced into my new life. That new life consisted of me being beaten, often quite badly, whenever I didn't "mind" either of my guardians properly. The problem was, "minding" them was never clearly defined to me, so even when I tried to be on my best behavior they still found cause to hit me. Now, before any thoughts of me deserving it by being a bad kid can surface, let me just explain something. I won't ever profess to being a perfect child. I had my share of problems the same as any teenager might have. However, I always showed respect to my parents and I always did as much as I could to help around the house. I had never been arrested, never even so much as encountered a police officer outside of when they would come to school and talk about drugs or gangs, and I didn't hang out with a "bad crowd". My extracurricular activities were typically studying, researching things on the internet that grasped my interest, offering help at my local animal shelter when my school schedule allowed for it, and generally just being a kid. I didn't really have any friends because, unfortunately, I was almost painfully shy, but I did okay with my life and stayed away from trouble. I was actually very interested in medicine, though I was flip-flopping between veterinary and regular. Before this dramatic change in my life, I had actually started making plans to try and shadow some doctors at the local hospital and vet clinics to try and narrow my decision down. To Harold and Jackie, though, my past made no difference. From the word go I was considered a burden, a bad kid, and I should be treated as such. Later in life I came to understand that this was just all a part of their plan, one that they had used many times in the past, to keep my will beaten down so I would just obey them without creating a fuss or threat of going to the authorities. Very early on, as in ten minutes after being dumped in their home, it was made painfully clear that if I attempted to contact the authorities about my treatment I would either be dead or wish I was. I suppose I was the perfect victim for them. With my already existing shyness and the fact that I no longer had any familial connections left in the world, my feelings of self-worth were already quite low. It really didn't take much on their part to keep me well cowed and bent to their will. However, that didn't keep me from noticing everything that went on in that tiny apartment. The bedroom I was "given" was maybe the size of a closet and consisted of a bed and a two drawer dresser and that was it. I suppose it was fortunate that I only had a small suitcase of clothes with me because that dresser was the only place I could put them. The walls were so thin I could not only hear what went on in our own apartment, but what went on in the apartments on either side of us and above us. Needless to say, I received quite an education when it came to drug deals, gang activities, and what went on with prostitutes. I also received an education on just how horrible people can really be. Starting with my first day there and every day after, it was my sole responsibility to clean the entire apartment with the most meager of supplies, cook breakfast and dinner (and it best taste good), do all of the laundry, and still go to school. That last part wasn't actually required by Harold and Jackie, they would just as soon as me not attend school at all, but I somehow managed to bargain with them to allow me to continue my education if I was able to perform all of my household duties. I did my best, with all of it, but quite regularly it wasn't considered good enough and I would be subject to physical discipline. Often, it would simply being beaten in ways that wouldn't easily show marks, but just as often it would be punishment in the form of not being allowed to eat or being locked in my closet of a room with absolutely nothing to occupy myself, not even school work. I managed to maintain good grades; though it wasn't very difficult to do given the school I now attended was not exactly known for its ability to challenge its students intellectually. In reality, it was just a weigh station for kids that just pushed students from grade to grade in the hopes that they wouldn't start any gang or drug wars in its halls. From what I heard within those halls, most of the students that "graduated" never left the area and ended up just being another junkie or pusher. Still, even living in this nightmare, I was still able to eke away a few moments in the school's library to continue my own education on the internet. The truth was, I educated myself better than any teacher in that school did since most of them were either too afraid of their students or had just plain given up and were just collecting a paycheck. It was four hours ago that I finally reached a breaking point I didn't even know I had anymore. I had just finished making dinner, for Harold and Jackie only since I had not cleaned the apartment to their specifications that morning, and had just started heading to my room to do some homework when I felt Harold's meaty hand close around my arm. Before I could even open my mouth to ask what I had done, he flung me against the wall so hard I saw stars and lost my breath. I had just managed to get one good intake of air when it was forced right back out of me by Harold's fist burying itself in my stomach. As I laid there desperately trying to keep from passing out from lack of oxygen, the blood roaring in my ears, I dimly heard Harold yelling something about not cooking the roast, the one that he paid for with the money he got from the state for being my guardian, just the way he wanted it. This point was made even clearer when Jackie kicked me viciously in the back and the side. I wanted to beg them to stop, to tell them I would do anything if they would just stop hitting me, but my voice was gone along with my breath and I fought just to remain conscious. Fortunately, the two of them decided they were bored with me and left the apartment to go out drinking with the clear threat that I would get worse if I didn't have the kitchen cleaned up by the time they got back. The sound of the door slamming was so sharp I actually jumped, thinking Harold had gotten a gun at some point and had shot at me. For a long time, I just laid there, curled in a ball, trying not to let the pain I was feeling overcome me. Some people think that after you've been abused long enough it starts to feel normal, that the abused person actually expects it. Maybe there are people like that out there, but I wasn't one of them. I felt every bit of pain in my body and it wasn't something I wanted in any way. I knew I didn't deserve to be treated this way, yet I had nowhere to go. When I managed to pull myself up to my hands and knees and took a breath, I fell into a fit of painful coughing that felt as if my throat was on fire. When my eyes finally cleared of the mist of tears, I saw several drops of blood on the kitchen floor and felt wetness on my lips. When I felt my mouth with two fingers, they came away stained with crimson. That was when I knew, without a doubt, that I would die in that apartment. Maybe not that night and maybe not for several months, but I would never make it to my eighteenth birthday when I could leave on my own. They would kill me before that could happen. With the kind of desperation only those who have fought to stay alive can understand, I stumbled and staggered my way to the door. I didn't even bother to try and get any of my few articles of clothes from my room; I just knew I had to get out of there as fast as I could before they came back. The only thing I did grab was my windbreaker that was hanging from the coat rack, and that was only because it was right next to the door. The next five minutes were some of the most nerve-wracking of my life. From the moment my hand touched the doorknob, I fully expected to see Harold and Jackie return, which would most certainly mean my death. I wanted to run, to sprint down the stairs of that apartment building and out the door, but I was in too much pain to do more than walk at a slow limp. While most people might take one look at me, a sixteen-year-old kid with a sickly pale complexion made even more so by a head full of dark red hair in filthy clothes and obviously in severe pain, and instantly call for help, the people in my apartment building just glanced at me and then looked the other way. Somehow, I made it down the five flights of stairs without falling and breaking my neck and out the front door into that dark, rainy night. I walked...well, staggered...for what must have been hours after that. The intellectual part of my brain, the one that had absorbed as much about medicine as it could with the limited resources at my disposal, knew that I could very well have a punctured lung or a ruptured kidney, and that I needed to seek medical attention as soon as possible. That could have easily been accomplished by dialing nine-one-one from any number of payphones on the street. My survival instincts, however, wouldn't allow for that and they were in full control. While it wasn't logical, I just knew that if I called for help, the hospital would call Harold and Jackie, and then I was certainly dead. Even though I knew that the hospital would report my abuse to the police immediately and officers would be there before Harold and Jackie, that part of me that was like a frightened animal somehow just knew that the two of them would be able to talk their way out of it somehow and get me back in that hell of an apartment. I just needed to keep moving, keep putting distance between myself and that place of pain and terror that had been my prison for two years. That was how I came to be walking down that street that night. The sharpness of the pain my body felt had eased back to a consistent throbbing. I still wasn't able to fully walk yet, but my limp had lessened somewhat. My awareness had returned full force to the point that I was hyper-aware. Every car that drove down the street, every voice I heard, caused me to tense and look around wildly, certain that Harold and Jackie would suddenly fill my vision. I must have looked quite the sight, but the streets were quiet at such a late hour and the kinds of people who were out and about probably mistook me for a meth- head in need of a fix. I suppose that wasn't too far from the truth, but it was a different kind of fix that I needed, the kind that filled your stomach. I had no money and no belongings, and my stomach had started to clench in protest of not having eaten anything since breakfast. If I couldn't think of something soon, I would be forced to resort to begging for money and pray that no one called the police on me. Perhaps it was because of my increased awareness of my surroundings that I noticed the two cars that approached the intersection ahead at right angles to one another. Given the late hour, both were driving a bit too fast for city streets, but nothing that wasn't manageable if the person behind the wheel was a competent driver. This might have been true, and nothing probably would have happened, except the traffic signal for the intersection malfunctioned and all directions of traffic were given a green light. It seemed to happen in slow motion in front of me. The first car to reach the intersection, an ordinary-looking dark sedan, proceeded on through as though nothing was amiss. it had only reached halfway through, however, before the other car, a compact decked out with all kinds of after-market spoilers and ground effects with bass pounding out of the speakers, slammed right into the driver's side of the sedan without so much as a squeal of brakes. The scream of crumpling metal was almost deafening against the quiet street. I watched in horror as the sedan lifted up onto its side and rolled completely over until it rested on its wheels once more. For several seconds, the air was uncannily quiet and I could hear my own ragged breathing loudly in my ears. Sound suddenly came flooding back to me and I could hear car horns blaring as well as voices yelling. Smoke was billowing from beneath the hood of the sedan. I watched in shock as the men in the compact scrambled out of the car and took off at a sprint away from the accident. "Hey!" I yelled. "Come back!" They didn't listen to me, of course. They didn't even acknowledge that I had spoken. By that time, I noticed a faint glow coming from between the seams of the hood of the sedan and its frame, leaving little doubt that the vehicle was on fire. That survival part of me that had been guiding my actions told me to run, run away fast, and don't be anywhere near here when the authorities show up. I actually had taken a step to do just that when I heard a faint moan over the perpetually sounding car horns. The driver of the sedan was alive. Clearly hurt, but alive. That was when the part of me so dedicated to medicine and the preservation of human life took control. I was still in a considerable amount of pain, but I rushed over to the sedan as fast as I could limp. When I reached the driver's side, I saw the air bags had deployed. Unfortunately, they did little to help in a roll over crash. The driver, a middle-aged man in a nice suit, was bleeding profusely from the head and his eyes were closed. He moaned, though, to show he was still alive. Since the windows were all shattered, I reached in and gently shook his shoulder. "Mister, Mister, you need to get up, your car's on fire!" His only response was another moan and a slight lolling of his head. Tamping down on my rising panic, I quickly assessed his condition. The bleeding was likely the result of a scalp laceration, though I couldn't rule out concussion. The fact that he could move his head, even slightly, while unconscious, indicated that there might not necessarily be spinal trauma, but that couldn't be ruled out just yet. A quick look inside the car didn't show any other obvious signs of trauma but that didn't mean there couldn't have been a closed or compound fracture. In a normal situation, the proper thing to do would be to wait for the fire department and EMS to come and perform an extrication so as to keep cerebral spinal alignment and do proper assessment. With the flames now licking out from beneath the hood though, that wasn't an option. Unfortunately, the driver's door was completely jammed from the impact of the other vehicle and there was no way I would get it open even if I wasn't hurt myself. Fortunately, the passenger door had suffered less injury and I was able to open it without trouble. As quickly as I could, I scrambled into the vehicle, shoving aside the man's briefcase, coffee thermos, and other belongings that had been thrown about during the collision. Luck was on my side when I found the seatbelt release still worked and I was able to free him of the restraint. Grabbing the man under the arms, I pulled as hard as I could. The sudden explosion of fire in my side stopped me cold. For several moments, I could only gasp for breath and try to ride out the pain of my injuries. When it didn't seem to be going away, I gritted my teeth and yanked as hard as I could. The agony in my side tore a scream from my mouth as the driver slowly slid across the seats of the car. It almost seemed like he had barely moved an inch and a part of me was yelling to just give up and get away while I still could. By this time, the heat in my side was eclipsed by the heat coming from the fire that was beginning to completely engulf the car. It had become so intense that the man's coffee thermos blew its seal and sprayed its contents all over my face. The scalding hot... coffee?...by itself would have normally been enough to have me crying out in pain, but by this point I was somewhere beyond pain and was only focusing on my survival instincts to try and get myself and this man out of this deathtrap. Perhaps it was desperation, or perhaps it was due to the adrenaline coursing through my veins by then, but I somehow managed to give one more heave that brought both of us tumbling out of the car and onto the debris-littered pavement. It was a small victory, though, because my strength was completely sapped. I'd gotten the man out of the burning car, but now I lacked the strength to get either of us to safety before the vehicle's gas tank ruptured right next to us. I tried to somehow pull the man along the ground, but my arms simply wouldn't respond to my commands anymore. I barely had enough strength to do more than just breathe. That was when the first cramp hit. At first, I thought it was ironic that I would be feeling hunger pains when my entire body felt like I'd just gone a few rounds in the WWE. However, the cramping in my stomach quickly escalated into full-blown body cramp that had me screaming in pain. Without consciously doing so, I writhed and convulsed on the ground with my hands desperately grasping at the air for something that could stop what was happening to me. On the heels of that, my entire body started burning up, as though the flames from the car had leapt from its steel chassis and enveloped me. Sweat poured out from every pore, mixing with the rain that poured from the sky that continued to fail at cooling the furnace that I had become. With one particular thrash, I felt my hand strike something solid. Hardly able to do so, I turned my head to see that I had grasped the ankle of the man whom I had pulled out of the car. Despite the pain lashing through me, I was somehow able to see that his face was bashed and bloody, probably from the driver's door being forcibly smashed into him by the other car. His left arm was at a clearly unnatural angle and it didn't look like his chest was moving, indicating that he likely wasn't breathing. It was pretty clear, even with my mind and body in such a state of painful chaos that if he didn't receive medical attention within a few minutes that he would likely die, and everything I had just put myself through would have been for nothing. In that moment, I fervently wished that I had been able to do more. Even if I was to die on this cold, wet street, I wished that I had at least been able to save this man, this complete stranger, who just so happened to be a victim of faulty wiring and a callous individual who had chosen to run and avoid any trouble with the law rather than try to help save this man. I knew it wouldn't do anything, but I mentally tried to push health back into him, tried to will life back into his quickly failing body. Even just trying to do that cause agony to erupt inside of me, consuming me with pain and heat to the point that I screamed soundlessly since my tortured vocal cords had been taxed to uselessness. Yet I didn't allow it to stop my desperate attempts to imaginarily push life into his body, even as my vision quickly began to gray and then go black. As the world faded into darkness, my last thought was that at least I wouldn't have to worry about being caught by Harold and Jackie anymore. UCSF Medical Center Emergency Room At first, it sounded far off, just a stirring at the edge of my consciousness. It wasn't anything that could be considered an identifiable sound, but it was enough to ease me out of the dark just a little bit. I reached out to that sound but just couldn't quite grasp it. It was like something that was just beyond the reach of my fingertips no matter how much I stretched for it. I knew that it signaled the path I needed to take, likely to the great beyond, whatever or wherever that might be. The sound increased ever so slightly and that was just enough for me to latch onto it and use it to slowly crawl my way out of the dark. Even as I pulled myself further along, getting closer and closer to that sound, the darkness around me seemed to enfold me within its depths. It was warm and comforting, like the hugs I used to get from my mother so often before she died. I wanted to stay there, in that warm darkness. I wanted to just let it wrap itself around me and hold me until the end of time. That sound, however, was insistent. Not only that, but it was slowly growing in volume. Despite my desire to just stay wrapped in that warmth, a part of my just had to follow that sound, to see where it led. Call it curiosity, call it stubbornness, call it whatever you wanted, but with great reluctance I untangled myself from the dark and allowed the sound to pull me closer to its source. Once I surrendered myself to this course, everything happened very rapidly. One moment, I was seeking out a pinpoint of sound, and the next... ...Awareness came to me like a splash of ice water. In an instant, my eyes were open and a gasp tore from my lips. Though blurry for a few moments, my vision quickly cleared and I found myself staring at a plain, white ceiling. That sound that had been drawing me out was quickly identified as an ECG monitoring system that softly chimed with every beat of my heart. Turning my head, which surprisingly caused no pain, I looked around and noted the sterile setting of a hospital room with me as its only occupant. Is this what the afterlife looked like, a hospital room? Before I could begin to try sitting up, the door to my room opened and two people quickly entered. Even without my interest in medicine, it was obvious that the blond woman in the pink scrubs was a nurse and the man in the lab coat was a doctor. While the doctor went to the room's medical cabinet, the woman sat down on the edge of my bed and covered my hand with hers. "It's okay sweetheart," she said soothingly, "you're okay. You're in the hospital." By that time, the doctor had retrieved whatever it was he was looking for and had stepped to the opposite side of my bed. Placing the stethoscope in his ears, he leaned down to touch the bell to my chest. After listening, presumably to my heart and lungs, he slipped the scope around his neck and took my wrist in his hand to check my pulse. "What is the last thing you remember?" he asked, splitting his attention between looking me in the eye and the second hand on the wall clock. It took me a few tries since I'm sure I'd screamed myself hoarse at the car crash, but I finally managed to croak out, "Car crash. Man hurt." The nurse nodded, looking over at the doctor who nodded as well. "That's right," the nurse said, "there was a very bad car accident and you pulled one of the drivers from the car." With the nurse's statement, the memory of it came flooding back and sent my heart racing. This was echoed by the ECG to start chiming faster, letting the doctor, nurse, and whomever might be monitoring it from the nurses' station know that something was wrong. "He...he was dead," I whispered haltingly, thankfully without croaking, though my voice still sounded odd to me. "His arm was badly broken. His face was all bashed up. I saw him stop breathing. I tried to help him." That caused the doctor and nurse to look at one another with a rather surprised expression on their face. It seemed as though there was some kind of unspoken communication between the two of them because the doctor immediately stood and hurried from the room. Before I could question that, the nurse gave my hand a squeeze and shook her head. "Honey, the man you pulled out of the car is fine. In fact, he wasn't injured at all." Frowning a bit, I shook my head in denial. That didn't make sense. I knew his arm had at the very least a compound fracture, he had who knew how many cuts, abrasions, and fractures on his face, and I knew I had seen him stop breathing. The conflicting story I was hearing was so distracting that I didn't even notice my normally short hair brushing against my cheeks and shoulders. "No, that's not right," I said, still in a whisper but a bit stronger, "His arm was broken for sure, and his face was beaten up and bloody. He stopped breathing for sure." The nurse said nothing to me for several long moments, only stared at me with a speculative look in her eyes. "What's your name honey?" "It's...it's Ashley." I almost had to bite down on my tongue to keep from blurting out my last name as well. Fortunately, I'd remembered at the last possible moment not to say anything. If I had, I would have just given the nurse my identity and if Harold and Jackie had filed a missing persons report it was very likely they would almost certainly contact them and the police and have me sent back to that living hell. Perhaps it was the sight of my eyes going wide as my own thoughts ran wild, or the fact that the heart monitor started beeping like crazy, but it seemed like the nurse knew exactly what I was thinking because she took both of my hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. "You're safe here honey," she said in what I'm guessing was supposed to be a soothing manner. I know the words were supposed to be comforting, but I'd already been a victim of a completely broken system that not only failed to protect me, but hand-delivered me straight into a nightmare. Her telling me that no one would hurt me was really just a platitude at this point. She must have seen the skepticism and distrust on my face, because she only smiled to me and gently tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. It was that simple action that caused me to go very still. With the nurse looking at me with confusion, I slowly reached up and felt my hair. It was then that I noticed two things, almost simultaneously. First, my normally short, coppery hair was gone. In its place was what I could only describe as a mane of thick, silky hair that, judging by what I was able to gather in my hand, must have easily been able to tumble down my back. What's more it was a rich, vibrant, fire engine red that almost certainly didn't exist in natural hair color. While I suppose the argument could have been made that I had been in a coma so long that my hair had grown out to such lengthy proportions, it wouldn't explain why it had such a soft and luxurious texture, not to mention a color that I'd only seen possible with the use of hair dye. The second and far more notable thing that was the forefront of my attention was one of the two mounds resting on my chest that I'd nudged lightly with the movement of my arm. With wide, unbelieving eyes, I stared at the twin protuberances that stuck out from my chest under the hospital gown and knew there was no mistaking what they were. This couldn't be right. It wasn't possible. Could I be hallucinating? I had to be hallucinating. That was the only explanation as to why I suddenly had... "Sweetheart," the nurse asked quietly, "what's wrong?" My gaze slowly tracked from my chest back up to her. From the look on her face she was clearly worried about the wide-eyed fear that surely covered my entire face. "I...I..." The words just didn't want to come out. "I have..." Her gaze flicked to my chest, then back to my eyes, and then hers widened with understanding. "Oh, I see." "You have manifested, young lady," the doctor said in a professional, yet gentle manner as he rolled a stool to my bedside and sat down. "And from what I can tell, you have done so in a way that caused a burnout." Up to this point in my life, I only had what could perhaps be a basic understanding of mutants and their manifestation. You would think that because I was interested in medicine that I would be very interested in mutants and how their biological and genetic differences would be from regular baselines. Had I been undertaking a formal education in medical school, I'm sure that would have been the case. However, I was only sixteen, and with my interests split between human and veterinary science I hadn't really broached the topic of mutants beyond the basic things that most people knew about them. That being said, I knew more than enough to realize that I'd apparently manifested as a mutant, and that my changes were a result of that. "I'm not a girl!" I whispered, almost desperately, perhaps thinking that saying it out loud would make it go away. "I'm a boy!" "Not anymore," the doctor said with a bit of a smile. "Sometime between when you were brought in here twelve hours ago and now you have, obviously, changed sex. Obviously this was brought on by your mutation." Slowly, my eyes still focused on those twin protuberances, I cupped my breasts and lifted them slightly. Two things happened then. First, I could feel the soft roundness that was the female breast under my hands that I would definitely recognize even though I'd never touched another woman's breast in my life. Secondly, I felt the touch of my hands upon said breasts, which was both alien and pleasant at the same time. I could feel their weight move upon my chest, lightly tugging at my chest wall. There was no denying that these breasts were a part of me, they were mine. The doctor cleared his throat, a reminder that I wasn't alone, and I blushed before quickly dropping my hands. "I understand you're probably very confused right now," he said sympathetically. "However despite suffering a burnout, you seem to have recovered fully from it. I'd like to keep you here for a little while longer just to be sure but if everything checks out okay you can be released to your parents. How can we contact them?" I doubt that there was very little on this planet that could have pulled my attention away from my own self-examination, however those words were more than enough to do it. "No!" I cried in horror. "You can't!" The two of them looked surprised at my outburst before they shared a look of understanding with one another. "Honey," the nurse asked me quietly, "are your parents Humanity First sympathizers?" I shook my head even as I pressed back against the head of the bed and looked about frantically in anticipation of making an escape attempt. "I don't know, and they aren't my parents." "Foster parents?" I responded to this with a nod and the two exchanged looks again. "Honey," the nurse asked quietly, "did your foster parents abuse you?" Maybe it was the soft tone the nurse used, or maybe it was the way both her and the doctor were looking at me with concern. Whatever it was caused my eyes to burn as tears welled within them and quickly started rolling down my cheeks. When I felt the nurses arms envelop me in a comforting hug I simply started bawling. For the first time in two years someone actually cared about me, about how I felt, about my health and my safety, and it completely undid me. She had asked me a question, one that I wanted to simply scream out the word 'yes', but my voice was lost. The only thing I could do was cry and moan as huge, body wracking sobs shook me violently. The nurse, bless her, just held onto me the whole time. I have no idea what the doctor did and, quite frankly, I didn't care at the time. All that mattered was the feeling of her arms around me, her hand gently stroking my hair, and her voice making soft, gentle sounds that I'm sure were words but I couldn't make them out. When my sobs finally reduced themselves to sniffles the nurse disengaged from me and used a tissue from the bedside shelf to gently wipe my eyes. "I think you needed that," she observed with a smile. I nodded and sniffled a bit before blowing my nose so I wouldn't have snot running down my mouth. No matter what you see in the movies, real crying is messy and I'd just been through a dozy of one. "Yeah," I said, my voice a bit hoarse, "I did." "Are you feeling any better?" I heard the doctor ask and looked over to see that he'd never left. In fact, he was still sitting on the stool next to my bed patiently waiting for me to cry it all out with a sympathetic smile on his face. "I think so," I said and wiped at my eyes again. "All right," he said and I could see he was once again in doctor mode, "I want to make a few phone calls and see what kind of options are available to us. We don't want you going right back into the same situation you just came out of. We'll keep you here for now and I'll come back when I have some news for you, okay?" "I won't have to go back to them will I?" I asked in a small voice, "They'll kill me if I do." "I'm going to do everything in my power to try to keep that from happening," the doctor promised me. "For right now just get some rest. I'll have a meal brought to you since you slept through breakfast." "Thank you," I whispered as the nurse started to carefully peel the ECG leads from my skin. "Both of you, thank you so much." The doctor offered me a smile before departing from the room, presumably to start making those calls. The nurse finished peeling off the leads and then gently wiped the adhesive from my skin with an alcohol prep wipe. "I'll see if I can scrounge up some pajamas for you. They probably won't be much, but yours clothes were pretty much ruined in the fire." "Thank you, that's very nice of you." She smiled and then, to my surprise, leaned down to kiss the top of my head. I blinked in surprise since I was quite certain that was probably against most hospital protocols. When she saw my expression she merely gave me a sheepish smile, shrugged, and then hurried out of the room and closed the door. Once I was alone I did what I had been wanting to do from the moment I'd discovered I was now a girl. Slipping out of bed, I pulled the hospital gown off and looked over at the mirror positioned above the sink that was in the room. I had to move and shift a bit so I could see all of it, but I got my first real look at what I'd become. The girl in the mirror was lovely. She was still five foot two, but the skinniness that I'd formerly possessed had morphed into feminine curves that would have any man, and possibly even woman, drooling. My face no longer had a slightly squarish look that one associates with the male visage. Instead, it was now more oval in appearance, with a dainty chin, soft, full lips and a cute little upturned nose. The most arresting quality was my eyes. They looked simply huge, with a slight upward tilt at the outer corners. I suppose that could be because my eyebrows had thinned into delicate arches, but I definitely had that wide-eyed babe in the woods look. But the size and shape of them was nothing compared to the coloration I now possessed. Before, my eyes had been a simple blue. They hadn't been bright or deep or anything like that, just a simple blue. Now, they were a green so bright and sharp they almost glowed. It was if someone had taken a pair of the richest colored emeralds and transposed them into my eyes. For a few moments, I was held captive by their hypnotic gaze. When I finally managed to shake myself free of, well, my spell, I continued a quick inventory. My skin was now a soft, rich peaches and cream, that absolute picture of health, youth, and vitality. It was a far cry from what I knew had been a paler complexion that came from my abysmal living conditions for the last couple of years. Tracking down from my face, I had a graceful, swan-like neck that blended into my shoulders, which were a graceful slope. My arms and hands had slimmed down and become sleeker, with small hands and slender fingers capped with nails slightly longer than they had been before. My breasts, and yes despite what my disbelieving brain was trying to scream at me, I did realize they were mine, were full and perky, though not overly large to comical proportions. If I had to guess, I'd have categorized them as a C cup, but I was no expert when it came to breast sizing. From there, I saw that I had a trim and taut belly that I'd only seen on some of the hottest bikini models in magazines which swelled out into gracefully feminine hips. They weren't too large or too small. The best I could think to describe them is they were perfectly proportioned. A quick turned revealed what I'd already suspected, that I had a well- defined and perfectly sculpted ass. Nice and tight without being too much so, with a faint heart shape to it. My....private area was also nicely shaped, at least to my eyes. I won't go into detail but I must say that if I had to look like a girl, at least my private area had a, shall we say, demure look as opposed to an outrageous or slutty look. Interestingly enough, there was absolutely no hair in my pubic region. While I'd possessed pubic hair as a boy, my new form didn't have any trace of it, not even signs of stubble. It was as though my body didn't possess any hair follicles in that area. Odd. Lastly, there were my legs, which despite my height were long, slim, and shapely. I had no doubt that they would look absolutely stunning in a pair of high heels (where the hell had that come from?) settled on what were now dainty feet. I took all of this in in but a few moments but one thing truly stood out in my self-examination. Apart from being completely female instead of male now, one thing struck me about my appearance on a whole. While physically I felt good, and my attributes were certainly generous, I looked...delicate. That was the only word I could think of to describe how I looked now. I looked like a beautiful, yet delicate image of femininity, as though it would take very little to shatter the image I saw before me. Shaking my head I pulled the hospital gown back on before I found myself in the embarrassing position of someone walking into the room with me standing there stark naked. Climbing back into the bed and drawing up the blanket I went over the events of the previous night in my mind. I remembered the car crash and the driver of the other vehicle running away, I remembered that I'd been able to somehow pull the door to the sedan open, and I remembered stupidly crawling into the car to try and get the driver out. What happened after that? Everything had happened so fast it was hard to really remember other than flashes. Obviously I'd gotten him out of the car because I could remember how badly he'd been hurt in the accident. The nurse had told me that he was completely unhurt but I just knew that wasn't right. So what the hell had happened? With a frustrated sigh I forced the thoughts from my mind. I knew if I just kept thinking about it I'd probably only drive myself crazy. The only thing I could do right now was just wait and see what the doctor was able to come up with and just go from there. UCSF Medical Center, Office of Doctor Taylor Reginald Taylor looked at the files that were scattered across his desk. He'd been over then at least a dozen times to make sure he hadn't missed even the smallest detail. Fortunately the EMT's had given a very thorough accounting of what happened in their report and he had even been able to get the reports of what happened from the police including a few witness statements. Given that this case involved a mutant experiencing a burnout, he'd had little trouble in obtaining the information so he would be able to provide the best treatment possible for his patient. Based on everything he'd looked over, the young lady had been quite heroic in her efforts. While the witness statements had to be taken with a grain of salt since they came from some homeless people that were likely jonesing for a drug fix, their stories seemed to coincide with the physical and photographic evidence from the scene. When pieced together it appeared that the young lady, and Taylor was hard pressed to even think of that lovely girl as a boy like she claimed she had been, had done quite the heroic deed. While her efforts to extract the driver from the vehicle while it was on fire were commendable indeed, it was what occurred after she'd pulled the driver from the flaming wreck that interested him. According to the witnesses, the girl had merely touched the man's foot and a green glow had formed around her hand. That glow had quickly expanded to encompass the man's entire body for the span of approximately twenty to thirty seconds before it faded away completely. Barely ten seconds after that, the man was reported as having awakened and feeling perfectly healthy and did not present with a single injury. Other than being unconscious, the girl, Ashley she called herself, also was absent of any injuries. By all accounts, it appeared that neither of them had sustained any damage or injury over the course of the entire event. This flew in the face of the physical evidence at the scene, that of the copious amounts of blood on the pavement and the fact that the man's suit was almost completely charred by the car fire. There were no other victims at the scene so that only left one reasonable explanation: The girl possessed the mutant ability to heal. Whether this was limited to only healing others as she had done with the driver or if she possessed an internal regenerative ability as well had yet to be seen. Regardless, her external healing ability presented Taylor with an opportunity that, if he worked it carefully, would prove to be supremely beneficial to him. Since he had already established an at least tenuous bond of trust with the girl, he didn't foresee any great difficulty in coaxing her along the path of his choosing. After all, he'd had experience with children afflicted by parental abuse far too many times in his profession and each of them all had something in common: they were desperate for kindness. After a quick look through his contacts on his smartphone he touched on one in particular. Ten seconds later he heard a deep voice on the other end of the line, "Jacobs." "This is Reginald Taylor," he explained, trusting in his name being enough of an introduction, "I have a potential situation that I'd like to speak to you about." "Is this line secure?" "Yes it is," he responded confidently. "Is the situation volatile?" "No," Taylor said and managed to hold back his sigh. Why did these people always have to play twenty questions first? "I have a subject immediately available." "Is the subject dangerous?" "As far as I've determined, no, but I would recommend using coercion rather than force. It would prove more beneficial overall." He could only imagine how badly it would damage or destroy any potential trust he had with the girl if she was suddenly confronted by an aggressive hit squad. "Go through regular channels," the voice that had identified itself as Jacobs said before the line went dead. "Hmph," the doctor snorted as he set down the cell and picked up the landline on his desk. After dialing a number he was greeted by a friendly female voice that said, "Good afternoon, Bay area MCO." "Yes," he said and didn't bother to try and hide the smile creeping across his mouth, "I would like to report a mutant manifestation with special circumstances." San Francisco , Bay Area MCO Headquarters One by one, Keith Mathews clicked through the day's emails with his chin propped up in his hand. Boring, boring, boring. As per usual there was nothing going on and every email was just useless information about things happening in other cities elsewhere in the country. It was pretty much the same every other day as well. Ever since he'd gotten out of the academy and been stationed in San Francisco six months ago it had been a parade of boring days. Every once in a great while he had the chance to investigate something interesting like a mutant with the potential to go supervillain, but by and large his days consisted mostly of running down false leads or the metaphorical cat in a tree. He supposed he should be grateful. After all, landing a job as an MCO investigating agent was a sweet paying gig and in a mutant-light town like San Fran the need for his services was fairly sparse. Still, he missed the opportunities to really stretch his investigative legs like he had during his time with the SFPD detective division and he wanted to show the higher ups just what he was capable of. Closing down the email application Keith pushed back from his desk and headed for the coffee maker on the far side of the empty room. It wasn't a surprise that the other three investigator desks were absent their agents since one of them was out with the flu and the other two were running down a lead on a supposed supervillain base. Considering this supposed base was reportedly inside a McDonald's he knew it wouldn't be long before his co-workers returned with bags of fast food goodness and a grumbling about how they had to check out every lead that came their way no matter how stupid it sounded. Keith had gotten his share of those kinds of cases and more than once wished the MCO had enough authority and money to establish some kind of a patrol service. He had just finished stirring in his cream and sugar to get the perfect coloring in his coffee when a rather large man with hair cut very much in military fashion stepped through the entryway. Immediately Keith stiffened and resisted the urge to salute. "Chief Jacobs, what brings you down here?" Chief Investigator Ronald Jacobs was well known in the Bay Area branch. Once a top flight investigator in New York, he'd been reassigned to head up the San Francisco division two years ago. No one knew why it had happened but the scuttlebutt was that he'd pissed off someone high up in the ranks something fierce. The fact that Chief Jacobs ran a very tight ship and was always seemed to have a scowl on his face tended to lend credence to that theory. Unfortunately for Keith, that scowl was aimed directly at him. "Are you the only one here Mathews?" he fairly growled. "Yes sir," Keith responded immediately. "Beakes and Anderson are working a lead on a potential super lair." That seemed to get the big man's attention and one eyebrow winged up. "Is it something serious enough to prep the RRT?" The junior investigator had to struggle to keep from laughing at the very thought of the MCO's Rapid Response Team deploying from Los Angeles just to raid a McDonald's. "No sir," he said confidently. "More than likely it's just another wild goose chase. The details of the case have the feel of a disgruntled worker who was recently fired." The Chief nodded before eyeing his subordinate critically. "What about you Mathews? Do you have anything in the works?" Although he wasn't happy doing so, Keith shook his head negatively. He didn't like acknowledging the fact that he was kicked back sipping coffee instead of being out there busting the bad guys, but there wasn't anything happening that allowed him to come up with a plausible lie. "No sir, it's been pretty quiet lately and the board is clear." There were a few moments of silence during which Keith felt like he was a bug under a microscope while Chief Jacobs seemed to silently consider him. Was his boss pissed that he wasn't doing anything? It wasn't his fault after all. It wasn't like he could go out and force mutants to start rampaging through the streets. "You were with SFPD right?" the big man finally asked. "Yes sir, three years in the detective division." "And you've handled child abuse cases." It was a statement rather than a question. That was the last thing Keith expected to be asked. He'd handled plenty of child abuse cases before, both in patrol and investigation, and he had yet to encounter one that didn't tear at his heart. "Yes sir, too many," he said in a quieter voice. The completely neutral expression on the Chief's face said implied he either completely missed the emotion in his investigator's voice or was simply ignoring it. "Then you're with me." So said, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving Keith to blink in shock for several seconds before he recovered and raced after his boss, remembering at the last second to snatch his sidearm from his desk drawer and slip it into its holster. "Do we have many details?" Keith asked once he caught up with the Chief. "Some," he replied and held up a file that the younger agent hadn't even realized his boss had. "Car crash happened last night. It looks like there was mutant involvement." Taking the file Keith did his best to try and peruse the information while still watching where he was going. It took him nearly walking into a wall a few seconds later to realize the idea was stupid and decided it was best to wait until they were at the car. "So the mutant caused the crash?" "No, she was a bystander. Our reports say she helped the driver." By that time they'd reached the unit's garage and not for the first time Keith wished he had the kind of pull his Chief did. While him and his co-workers drive basic Ford sedans outfitted with some pretty simple computer gear so they could run background checks, the Chief had a much more powerful Mustang GT 350. Not only that, but because he was rated as an RRT commander there was a veritable arsenal in the trunk of the vehicle that would have made L.A's SWAT team jealous in addition to computer equipment Keith and his co-workers could only dream of getting. Trying to put his tech envy aside, Keith slid into the passenger seat and had barely secured his seatbelt when the car shot out of the carport and onto the street. Since the Chief knew how to drive like a pro, the junior investigator didn't bother with worries of dying in a fiery crash and opened the file so he could review the case. A quick scan revealed that the mutant in question for the case had indeed not caused the car crash, but had in fact completely healed the injured driver simply by touching him. The file also indicated the mutant had experienced a burnout at that time and had woken up in the hospital with his sex reversed, turning him into a her. "Tough luck," Keith muttered when he read that. "What's that?" Jacobs asked without taking his eyes from the road. "Nothing," Keith said. "Just looking over the case." As he looked further he came to understand why the Chief had chosen to take him along instead of waiting for one of the other two to get back. According to the doctor's report, the now girl had been with foster parents ever since her birth parents died two years prior in a car accident. If the girl was being truthful, and the doctor's report indicated he believed that she was, the foster parents she'd been placed with had been abusing her for the last two years. Last night she'd finally run away from home only to stumble across the car accident as it happened. She was also convinced she'd be killed if she was returned home. Whether she though that because she'd manifested as a mutant or simply because she'd run away from her foster parents was up for debate. More than likely it was probably a combination of both. "So this girl is a victim, not a suspect." It was an unnecessary statement, but Keith wanted to be sure he and the Chief were on the same page with this case. "For now," Jacobs said carefully, "when we get to the hospital she's at you'll interview the girl and I'll talk to her attending." "What about the SFPD and social services?" Keith asked. "I'm assuming we're doing a joint investigation." "They haven't been called in yet." That had the junior agent blinking in surprise. While the MCO was certainly authorized to conduct investigations regarding mutants and their activities, it had no jurisdiction when it came to other criminal activities. Sure this case involved a mutant, but she wasn't the offender. By all rights the SFPD should have been called immediately along with Child Services. "That's highly unusual sir," Keith said carefully. "Yes it is," his boss admitted, "But we want to determine at least some extent of the girl's mutation before bringing in other agencies. I don't want the hospital blowing up because she ends up being a high level energizer who ends up triggering her powers because she gets emotional during questioning." The explanation made sense, but something niggled at the back of Keith's mind. He'd only been a detective in the SFPD for three years, but he'd been a good one and he'd learned to trust his instincts on investigations. At that moment, those same instincts were telling him something wasn't right and he was pretty sure it didn't have everything to do with the mutant they were going to see. UCSF Medical Center, Emergency Department During the four hours after I'd woken up and discovered I was now a girl I'd been lucky enough to have the nurse who I'd first met be my almost constant companion. Tina Brightman (please just call me Tina) had been so wonderful helping not to completely freak out at my sudden change of anatomy. When I'd first gotten a good look at myself I thought that I'd be okay with it, that I'd be able to adapt to such a dramatic change. After all, it wasn't like I'd turned into some kind of grotesque monster with bat wings and a pig snout. I'd just changed into a normal looking girl. Okay, so I'd changed into a drop-dead gorgeous girl with hair so brightly red that I looked like I belonged in an anime, but otherwise a normal girl. Unfortunately, my traitorous brain quickly proved me wrong when I started thinking about all of the drastic changes that would now happen in my life. I couldn't stand to pee anymore, I'd probably start having periods (shudder), I'd have to worry about a lot more than my face when it came to shaving, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. All of those thoughts had me shaking with fear and by the time Tina had come back to bring me a late breakfast I thought for sure I was going to have a nervous breakdown. As it was, it took her about ten minutes of just holding me and gently shushing while I had another crying jag that threatened to never end. I'd apologized profusely for it afterwards and she assured me it was nothing to be ashamed of. "Girls are much more expressive with their emotions," she explained. "I just feel like I can't get a handle on mine," I complained as I sniffed away the last of my tears. "When I got a good look at myself I thought, 'Okay, I can handle this' and then the next thing I know I'm sobbing like a baby." "It's a lot to take in," she assured me, "Not only being a mutant, but suddenly being a girl would be tough on most people. Unless you're transgendered and wanted to become a girl," she said carefully. "I didn't," I said with a shake of my head and felt that still odd sensation of my hair brushing back and forth along my shoulders and back, "I was perfectly happy being a boy." "I thought as much. Still, I think I should probably give you a little bit of a crash course on womanhood while we wait for the doctor." And so I was taught a few things I would need to know about the distaff side of life. The first thing Tina made sure I had a good grasp of was my new sanitary needs. Not only was I taught the proper way to handle a period, something I was most assuredly not looking forward to, but I was also instructed on how to keep my new equipment clean so as to avoid infections. Once that rather disgusting lesson, complete with hands-on demonstrations (shudder), was completed we moved on to some more rather harmless things. Hair care, clothing selection, makeup, shoes, and even accessorizing were all discussed in somewhat broad strokes. Tina didn't want to overwhelm me but she thought it might be good for me to start learning about those things so I wouldn't look like an unorganized mess when I finally left the hospital. She'd also managed to acquire some clothing for me so I wouldn't be stuck in a backless hospital gown. It wasn't much, just a pair of thin pajama pants and a white T-shirt, but it made me feel far less exposed. I can't even remember how many times I'd thanked her for being so kind to me during those few hours. By the time the doctor Taylor (Tina had told me his name) had returned I was eating lunch with Tina since she'd insisted on taking her break with me. "Well," he said happily as he walked into the room, "I'm glad to see you've got your appetite." "Me too," I said and returned his smile. "And the food isn't nearly as bad as the stereotypes make it out to be." That got a laugh from Tina. "Tell me," he asked as he pulled up the rolling stool to sit next to my bed, "Have you noticed if your appetite has increased? Do you still feel hungry after eating a meal or perhaps having second helpings?" I shook my head without even needing to think about it. "No doctor, I was pretty full after I had that late breakfast and I'm almost full from this now." "I see," he mused and made a note in the chart he was carrying. "Is that bad?" I asked worriedly. Was I supposed to have a huge appetite now that I'd mutated? "No not at all," he assured me and smiled, "But it does indicate that it's likely you don't fall into the energizer class of mutant. They burn up calories so quickly that they have quite...healthy appetites." "Oh." "But that's purely speculation right now," he clarified, "until you get proper power testing we can't be sure what abilities you have and which category they fall under." "You mean with the MCO?" I asked nervously. I'd heard plenty of stories regarding the mutant policing agency and admittedly most of them were good. According to general media accounts, the MCO worked to make sure the mutant population didn't go out of control with their powers. That was why they'd established power testing centers across the country, so mutants could learn what abilities they had so they would be able to control them. Still, I had my doubts about what the organization actually did. There had been plenty of times when Harold and Jackie would watch a news broadcast involving a mutant being taken into custody by the MCO and comment on how great it was they were making another mutant disappear. At the time I just chalked it up to drunken ramblings, but now I found myself wondering if there might have been a kernel of truth to what they were saying. "Yes," Doctor Taylor told me and placed his hand atop mine, "I actually have been in contact with them about you and they are sending two of their agents over to speak with you." "But I didn't do anything wrong," I protested fearfully, "I just tried to help that man." "No one said you did anything wrong," Doctor Taylor soothed while Tina slipped a comforting arm around my shoulders, "I called them because any time a mutant manifests they need to go see their agency for power testing. Because of your situation with your foster parents I thought it best for them to come and speak with you before Child Services did. Given that you're understandably leery of them after what happened with your foster parents, I thought perhaps the MCO agents might be able to come up with an alternate solution other than Child Services. If you're not comfortable with that I can contact the police and Child Services immediately and have them here by the time the MCO agents arrive." I wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of being interviewed by MCO agents. Regardless of their press I didn't want them thinking I'd been the one to cause the accident to begin with. However, if it was a choice between dealing with the MCO or Child Services, the MCO definitely had a leg up. I'd already dealt with CPS once and they'd dropped me into that hell of a foster home without a care. I had no plans to give them another chance to do even worse if I could help it. "No, it's okay," I demurred, "I'll talk to the agents when they get here." "Wonderful," Doctor Taylor said with a clap of his hands, "I think you're making the right decision. Now, before they do arrive I would like to conduct a physical exam on you so it's out of the way." I blinked in surprise at his request. "But, didn't you already examine me earlier when I was brought in?" He nodded but smiled wanly, "Yes you were given a thorough physical exam; however you were in the throes of a burnout which can skew our findings at the time. Now that your burnout has passed I would like to do another exam to see if there are any significant physical changes that the MCO should be mad