[sblock=Transition...]At first, Ben thought it was only exhaustion. Fighting first the super-robot, then the mutation, it was bound to take its toll, even on him. The evening after they returned to the surface, though, the fever hit. Chills, shakes, nausea. Brick didn't remember ever being sick much as a kid. He'd always been so resilient. But now, whether it was from the water or the radiation or something in that crazy barbed mutant's stingers ... he was sure of it now. Something was wrong, deep down.
It was a full day before he had the strength to make it out of his bed, starving and dehydrated. He made his way to the shower, figuring he'd clean up and get a drink all at once. But when he grabbed the door handle, he saw the gleam on his flesh. Brass, like the handle. He moved into the bathroom, staring at the metal form he'd taken on. He reached forward, as if touching the reflection might make it go away, and watched in horror as his flesh took on the reflective properties of the mirror.
Stumbling backward, he fell in the shower, and felt himself shatter. Pieces of Ben reached upward, grasping at the faucet as a handhold, but as the knob turned and water rained down, he felt himself melt, felt the pull of the drain and knew he would slide down it.
Here, finally, Ben found the will to retake some measure of control. He managed, somehow, to pull his fluid form out of the drain, the tub, forced it to rise in a column before the mirror, shape itself into the body he remembered. Then, slowly, painstakingly, he forced himself to regain the flesh and blood to which he'd been born.
Sighing in relief, he reached out to the mirror again, tentatively, and though he felt the tingle he was quickly realizing signaled his body's ability to adapt the substance as his own, he forced himself to remain a man.
The initial shock over, he began to assess those abilities he was used to. Ben was chagrined to discover his strength and normal toughness diminished. As a being of flesh he was painfully mortal now.
Over the next few days, he learned the nature of his new abilities, collected a few substances which seemed to give him a range of options: he strapped a small pouch of sand and a water bottle to his belt, changed out the buckle for one of hard steel. Then the call came, and he no longer had the luxury of experimenting without consequences. Time to face the music.[/sblock]
Ben was quiet and withdrawn when the group gathered. It was clear something troubled him. Perhaps the loss of Cybermind hit him harder than others. He wasn't sharing, though, so the real cause could be anyone's guess. Finally, as discussion of the mission turned to logistics, he shook his head, set his jaw, and spoke.
"If we need to do some scouting, I ... picked up a few new tricks after our last mission," he says. He takes a deep breath as if to speak, and closes his eyes. But instead of speaking, his body seems to disappear in a large woosh of air.
"Everybody breathes," comes Ben's voice slightly higher in the air, though he remains unseen. "So they have to have vents in that place, right?" With another blast of air, Ben re-appears.
It was a full day before he had the strength to make it out of his bed, starving and dehydrated. He made his way to the shower, figuring he'd clean up and get a drink all at once. But when he grabbed the door handle, he saw the gleam on his flesh. Brass, like the handle. He moved into the bathroom, staring at the metal form he'd taken on. He reached forward, as if touching the reflection might make it go away, and watched in horror as his flesh took on the reflective properties of the mirror.
Stumbling backward, he fell in the shower, and felt himself shatter. Pieces of Ben reached upward, grasping at the faucet as a handhold, but as the knob turned and water rained down, he felt himself melt, felt the pull of the drain and knew he would slide down it.
Here, finally, Ben found the will to retake some measure of control. He managed, somehow, to pull his fluid form out of the drain, the tub, forced it to rise in a column before the mirror, shape itself into the body he remembered. Then, slowly, painstakingly, he forced himself to regain the flesh and blood to which he'd been born.
Sighing in relief, he reached out to the mirror again, tentatively, and though he felt the tingle he was quickly realizing signaled his body's ability to adapt the substance as his own, he forced himself to remain a man.
The initial shock over, he began to assess those abilities he was used to. Ben was chagrined to discover his strength and normal toughness diminished. As a being of flesh he was painfully mortal now.
Over the next few days, he learned the nature of his new abilities, collected a few substances which seemed to give him a range of options: he strapped a small pouch of sand and a water bottle to his belt, changed out the buckle for one of hard steel. Then the call came, and he no longer had the luxury of experimenting without consequences. Time to face the music.[/sblock]
Ben was quiet and withdrawn when the group gathered. It was clear something troubled him. Perhaps the loss of Cybermind hit him harder than others. He wasn't sharing, though, so the real cause could be anyone's guess. Finally, as discussion of the mission turned to logistics, he shook his head, set his jaw, and spoke.
"If we need to do some scouting, I ... picked up a few new tricks after our last mission," he says. He takes a deep breath as if to speak, and closes his eyes. But instead of speaking, his body seems to disappear in a large woosh of air.
"Everybody breathes," comes Ben's voice slightly higher in the air, though he remains unseen. "So they have to have vents in that place, right?" With another blast of air, Ben re-appears.
[/sblock]
