The Metamorphosis

One morning, as ------ awoke from anxious dreams, she discovered that in bed she had been changed into a monstrous…

No, wait. What the hell am I doing? Let's go back a few. How about 2060? That a good year for you? I can go back further, about, oh, say, 2049, but that's pretty boring. I was pink and fleshy and just put out a lot of shit and piss for no good reason at that point in my life; it's not a good place to start. In July of 2061, though, I had a week so awesome I can only describe it as "hell week," so how about I tell you about that one?

The best place is September 4, 2061. That's a Sunday, so you don't hop all over the martrox looking for the fucking day. Church was on that day, north Renton; the 'rents were exuberantly Methodist, and loved expounding the virtues of god in a world gone shaman. We had just gotten home when dad discovered there were wasps in his shed. He called over the neighbor, a large biker woman, an orc clad in a robust black jacket and pants and thick helmet, and the two of them set about a plan to get rid of the interlopers that involved using my bedsheets and the hose. The plan fell through, the sheet caught fire, and I ended up using one of the sheets from my parents' bed. Now, this had the added effect of getting the fire company out there to charge my father for an uncontrolled blaze.

I started getting a headache at some point around 10 PM, and I tried getting out of bed pretty quick; got caught up in the sheet and fell gloriously to the earth, completely unconscious again. This had the side effect of my parents getting out of bed and finding my body all twisted and at an odd angle in the middle of the floor. They called DocWagon, who, of course, responded with equally rapid urgency. I ended up at the hospital, of course.

So, on Monday, September 5, 2061, I didn't get to go to school. I had a pretty boring day in the hospital, all told. Now, my doctor was a shaman named ------ who waved around an X-ray of some spike-like breaks in my skull and some thickening of my temples, asking if I had any previous injuries. By this time my head was pounding and I told him I didn't. Dad got all indignant and told me off about trying to jump around playing Space Ranger in my bed. I told him I hadn't done that since I was six and he just looked around nervous and said "oh," in that tone dads have when they realize their kid just pointed out the obvious. The doc told me I had an "amusing" astral signature and kept laughing at the most inappropriate times during the whole debacle and gave me a pamphlet about goblinization. My mom screamed at him to stop making such terrible jokes.

Anyway, --- stopped by to visit, and he told me the other kids at school thought I was dead. I got discharged before midnight and ended up sleeping at home.

The next morning, Tuesday, September 6, I ended up at school. Turns out that not only did they think I was dead, but my second period teacher had watched me get hauled away unconscious by DocWagon and had totally assumed the worst. She'd even gotten her class to fill out a farewell card to give to my parents; she ended up giving it to me instead, but that didn't stop her from freaking out. One of my classmates, ---, a tall slick little fellow with Arabic ancestry and surly as a drunk dwarf, decided he was going to spread a rumor that I had been experimented on and was now a corporate controlled shaman-zombie. I mean, my doctor is a shaman, after all. I've got people testing all kinds of weaknesses out on me all day. These are weaknesses that any human would recoil from, mind you. Perfume directly in the face, cinnamon in the eyes, what have you. My headache got worse through the day and I ended up blowing my top and some kid two years younger than me. I punched him in the face and stomped on him until ---, the local suit who scouts mages and gobbos for the corps, pulled me off and sent me to the principal.

About ten minutes later he showed with the pamphlet; due to my symptoms and the pamphlet with certain sections underlined, he thinks I'm going to goblinize any day now into a troll. Beautiful, right? So the rest of the day, I got all kinds of very disturbing looks and fucking --- is trying to court me all day with questions and lunch vouchers. He told me all about the best plastic surgeons that money can buy, and Yamatetsu's got them all. I had to keep waving away him and --- all day.

I left school by the usual route; --- and I cut around behind the school, where there's a long, solid stretch of brick wall from the 90's backed up against a Chinese restaurant. We circled around the far bend and --- and his thugs were there, all set to start pounding us in. The fight barely gets started, mostly with me ready to go. I just wanted to get home and get some drugs in me, when the side door opened and a hundred or more cat heads come rolling out. Now, they came out on top of me and there are devil rat heads mixed in.

I scream as only 11-year olds can, and the fat Chinese lady (yes; this woman made the most blubber-gutted orc feel like Natalie Underwood) immediately apologized as profusely as possible and handed myself and --- a credstick for our troubles and what II assumed was hush money. The thugs wandered off, laughing to each other, and we continued the journey home.
 

On September 7, I awoke to the sounds of shuffling outside my window. When I leaned out to try to get a look, someone left around the corner of the house. I went to school like normal, but I set off the scanners at the door. They checked me out for weapons. I had another headache and kept snapping at everyone until second period, when the teacher kept stealing disturbed glances in my direction; I hissed at her and she sent me out in the hall. I checked the credstick during lunch. Fifty thousand nuyen. Holy shitfuck, yes! I asked --- how much was on his, and he said there was five hundred. Maybe she typed a bit too fast or something.

I got called up to the principal's office and there was a lady there in a brown coat and black gloves. The guy said she was Linda Anderson, and mom had sent her to pick me up because there was an accident at the office. I nodded, and asked the woman what the code word was. She started to sweat. I told the principal she wasn't because she didn't know the code word, and she got out her cell phone and started to make a call. She didn't get done before the school security ushered her out the front gate.

After school, we went back home a different way. A black car followed us part of the way, and it traded off for a beat-up clunker made out of spare parts from lesser cars.
 

On the morning of September 8, to what I refer to as "hell day" in an affectionate yet exasperated tone, I was sleepier than normal. The momandant had let me stay up to look at the perigee of the comet, and it was awesome. I awoke on that day from fevered dreams to discover my headaches gone and the house filled with delicious smells; there was a lot of blood on my sheets. I rolled over onto the ground and hit on all fours. Dad came rushing in and just stopped short; my mom showed up when he didn't respond and did the same thing. I looked back and forth, shouted "what are you looking at?" a few times, and then I said the code word. Mom rubber her eyes and rushed me, picking me up and running. Dad started screaming and went for his gun in the nightstand. Mom made it out to the yard, where there was a troll with an oversized pred and a stupid grin on his face. I got thrown into the car and mom started it up with her key card before she even got in. We made it out into the street as a White Knight vehicle turned the corner and the troll pounded to his bike.

What followed was a three car chase between my mom, a White Knight vehicle with the sirens off, a troll on a motorcycle, and an unmarked white van out of Renton and down the 90. I saw ---'s van pull up next to ours and he kept motioning us to pull over, but I kept yelling through the window and pointing at the three pursuers even as we were running.

September 9, I was out of the Renton area and my back was on Seattle. I hit the road and have been on it ever since, at least until I got out to Raleigh in the UCAS.

So now, here we are. 2070. I'm back in town with no flat and no prospects.