"Hey! Hey, Jason! Wanna hang out later?"
Jason suddenly felt the left arm of Ryan -one of his best friends- land squarely on his back as they both left the schoolyard. The hand gripped Jason's left shoulder in a tight -yet friendly- embrace. Ryan then switched it up for a half-serious headlock and brought his other fist up to the top of Jason's head.
"C'mon, man! Whaddya think?" Ryan asked, noogie-ing Jason. "Skate park? Library? McDonald's? Maybe Grillby's Diner?"
Jason merely sighed before slipping out from underneath his friend's embrace. He then turned and looked at Ryan, taking in his companion's current appearance. Ryan was about average height for someone in the 14-to-18-year range.
Though, given the excessively hormone-flooded mess that is "High School", that's not saying much.
Basically, he was 5'3", scrawny, somewhat pale, with a naturally sorta-shifty look to him that could put some people off at first. The fact that he almost exclusively wore black, (or dark) hooded apparel with a bandanna tied around either his face or neck didn't help that. Especially since he almost never took the hood off. As such, it was hard to tell what color and style his hair was set in at any given time, though Jason knew from personal experience that he preferred it short and spiky, usually leaving it with its natural sandy-brown color except for special occasions.
Which occasions they were and what made them "special," were always subject to Ryan's often "unique" and... mercurial definitions.
"Not today, man." Jason said at last, regretfully, "I've got an essay due tomorrow that I've barely started. Then there's today's math homework, and some other crap I've been putting off. It's almost the end of the quarter."
"So?" Ryan spread his arms wide, a cocky grin stretching almost all the way across his face. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Well, for one, whilst most of my grades aren't currently below 'C' level," Jason answered with a minor grin of his own, "there are a couple that are quite possibly in danger of being dragged out in the undertow."
"Ha haaa~... no." Ryan replied, smile fading as he leveled a finger at Jason. "You know that puns are supposed to be Dave's thing, and I'm not exactly a fan of them even when he does it.”
There was a sneeze nearby before a third voice joined the conversation. "When who does what now?" The person asked. Jason and Ryan both turned to find Dave himself approaching them, wearing an open-fronted light gray jacket over a white shirt, his skin just as pale as ever due to his somewhat pronounced albinism. In fact, Dave was probably the only person in the school who was even paler than Ryan.
"Puns, man." Ryan said by way of explanation, crossing his arms, "And you know I hate 'em."
"Oh? Did I miss a good one?" Dave asked, raising an eyebrow behind his dark shades as he adjusted his blue and white New York Yankees cap. Sensitivity to light was one part of Dave's condition that he had repeatedly stated as being the worst and that he would gladly be rid of it as well. Especially if it would get Dave off the receiving end of the occasional vampire joke.
"That depends." Jason replied, "I'll give you the long and short of it: Grades. 'C' level. Dragged out in the undertow..."
Dave appeared to consider Jason's words for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, I could see that working. Lemme guess, homework overload tonight?"
"Yeah, sorta." Jason nodded solemnly as they all began walking in a vaguely "Homeward" direction. "Quarter ends next week, and I need to up the ante a bit if I wanna keep my Uncle off my back. Easier said than done, since my mom's favorite show is on tonight, and my Uncle hates fantasy..."
Ryan chuckled at the idea. "Speaking of that particular show," he began, his face displaying a devious grin, "y'know those upperclassmen that've been turning into rainbow-colored anthropomorphic horses lately...?"
"Ponies, actually," Jason corrected, a little put off by Ryan's smirk, "and yes, I'm aware. They've been involved in a couple fights using what most folks are calling 'magic', though I hesitate to label it as such..."
"I'm also familiar with the stories," Dave added. "After all, it's been the talk of the school ever since that one dude turned into a purplish, winged Unicorn-"
"Alicorn."
"Thank you." Dave continued. "Since he turned into that 'Alicorn' chick, as Jason called her. Why do you ask, Ry?"
Ryan's eyes suddenly acquired a certain glint that immediately made the other two teens suspicious. "Well..." He said at last, "What d'you think of 'em? Like, on a scale of 1-10?"
Dave merely sighed and shook his head at the question, while Jason groaned, winced, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why me?” Jason silently asked himself as they walked along. “And why now? I mean, I never actually expected to have this conversation in my school days, let alone with Ryan and Dave, of all people.”
Ryan, for his part, incorrectly saw this as an invitation to continue the conversation in its current (and increasingly uncomfortable) direction. "Like, take the blue one, for example. In my books, she's most likely an 8. Whereas the yellow one is a full-on 10, maybe even an 11 if that's possible. The pink hair's not exactly favorable, but she more than makes up for it with that shy personality, and those absolutely massive-"
Jason barely had a chance to look back and see exactly how and where Ryan was holding his hands before Dave... well, Jason wasn't exactly sure what happened, but it looked like Dave had flash-stepped to about a foot in front of where Ryan had been walking. Key word; had been. Right now, Ryan was a couple yards back along the path they had all been taking, with twin ribbons of crimson liquid briefly connecting his now-crumpled nose with Dave's outstretched fist before everything fell under Gravity's power once more. This wasn't the first time that Dave had appeared to move faster than what seemed physically possible, but it was still a disarming experience.
After all, the "vampire" jokes had to have somewhere to start from...
"Not. Cool." Dave said, at last, straightening up once more, an unusual cold intensity having stolen over his face.
"Nnnyooou mudder-fugger!" Ryan's muffled voice called out in reply as he clutched his nose in pain. "You broge by fugging doze! Ya could'a gilled me doing dat!"
"And you could have some respect!" Dave retorted. "They've had both their original race and gender changed, probably against their will, and there might not be a way to reverse it. In addition to that, there's the fact that everyone who sees them from here on is probably either going to judge them negatively or come up with perverted ideas like you just were. Now go home and get that looked at; I don't want to be responsible for accidentally killing someone this early in my life. Especially a friend."
"I'mma tell Carzen yer da one dat broge by doze, bark by words!" Ryan shot back as he scurried off towards his place of residence.
"He better tell Carson I broke his nose if he knows what's good for him," Dave muttered to Jason. "Knowing that guy, Carson'll be more concerned with the fact that he didn't get first dibs on wailing on his younger brother, even though Ryan's a total sleazeball, at times."
"I... should probably get home now," Jason replied, nervously. "It's getting late, and I have homework that reeeeeeally needs doing tonight."
"Alright," Dave replied, looking off where Ryan had fled for a moment more, before turning to his companion. "Sounds good. Safe travels, Sir Greenspine, and good luck completing thy quest." He then mock-saluted with a grin and turned to go his own way.
"You too, Shadecrest!" Jason called. "Fare thee well!" Dave merely waved once in response without looking back, and then he disappeared around a corner.
Jason allowed his mind to wander as he made his way home, his legs essentially going on autopilot as he completed the short trek. He was troubled by the recent developments involving those who had become alternate versions of the main characters of his mother's favorite show. Their most recent so-called "battle" would probably put a damper on his hopes to form a school D&D club. Folks could only take so much change in a short amount of time…
A few minutes later, Jason arrived at the small, single-story house he called home. "I'm home!" He called out as he opened the door, getting little more than a disinterested "meh" from his uncle in the living room.
While his uncle was, indeed, wearing a white "wife-beater" shirt and gray sweatpants, he wasn't one of the stereotypical obese drunkards one sometimes found antagonizing a story's main character, nor was he one of the lean-and-lanky abusive assholes from the movies either. Instead, he was more along the lines of a "normal" person for his age. He was rather well-built, in fact, with some decent muscle definition left over from his short-lived time in the armed forces. There was only a slight bit of fat around his midriff, which served as a small testament to how he'd let himself go over the last few years, after the accident that claimed the life of his lifelong best friend, -and his sister's husband- Jason's father.
"Hey, Uncle Jim," Jason said as he closed the door. "How's it going?"
"Eh, same as usual, I guess." came the somewhat disinterested reply.
"Jay-jay?" That was Jason's mother, whose voice seemed to be emanating from the kitchen, bringing with it the pet-name she used for him when in good spirits. Not a moment later, she leaned excitedly out of the kitchen door, her weight supported entirely by a single hand on the doorframe. "Hey, Jay, how's your day?" She asked once she locked eyes with her son, then tried (and obviously failed) to suppress a giggle. But whether it was the rhyme, or something else, nobody knew. She then came out, grabbed Jason's hand, and pulled him into the kitchen.
"Whoa, mom! What's up this time?" Jason asked with a chuckle as he followed in her wake. She was in a very good mood today, it seemed, and appeared to have entered a more lucid period, for however long it might last.
"She's been cooking again." his Uncle remarked from the living room. This caused some minor concern to take root in Jason's heart because there had been a few times where his mother had nearly set the place ablaze whilst trying to make something "special" for dinner...
His fears, however, were assuaged when he saw a rather well-made pan of Lasagna sitting on the stove, waiting to go in the oven. If there was one thing his mom could be counted on to successfully make, it was Lasagna, though they'd still occasionally find a weird ingredient slipped in from time to time.
"Oh! Looks good, mom!" Jason remarked, then turned his head and called to the living room. "It's just Lasagna, uncle Jim. Nothing to freak out over."
"I beg to differ, kid." he replied, "She put squid in the last one."
"That's why I called it 'Tako Surprise'!" Jason's mom said, innocently.
"Yeah, it was a surprise alright! Squids have nothing to do with tacos!" Jim protested.
Jason's mom rolled her eyes. "No, not that kind of taco, dear brother. In Japan, the word for octopus or squid is 'Tako,' with a 'k'."
Jason rolled his eyes and -leaving his elders to their sibling rivalry- went to his room to get a start on his homework. His mom was present enough to be able to take care of it herself from here on, as long as she remembered to set the timer...
"Hey, mom? Remember to set the timer after you put it in!" He called from his doorway, just in case.
"I will!" Came her reply. "Love you, my little Greenspine!"
"Rawr, love you too!" Jason chuckled at the old nickname and closed his door most of the way, then turned to face his bedroom.
It was small, to be honest, but it was functional nonetheless. There was a low-slung bed, a closet, a spare table that he would use for homework, and a single bookshelf. On it were some of his prized possessions; a few fictional novels, (mostly fantasy, from both his own collection and that of the local library) his father's old RPG rulebooks, a couple of early Bionicle sets, and a decent collection of figures from various tabletop RPGs. Mostly dragon-related ones, though.
Most prominent among these were the figures of Tiamat and Bahamut, the respective dragon gods of evil and good, with a third figure set betwixt them. This figure was the one Jason had used years ago -to represent his character, Hosak Greenspine- back in the days when he'd still played D&D with his father and uncle. The figure itself depicted a Dragonborn warrior in chain armor, wielding a Katana in one hand, a shield in the other. The thick, dreadlock-like scales of his "hair" were the color of corroded copper, as was the row of spines running down his back and tail, (hence the surname) though the rest of his physical body was an iridescent blue that players and characters alike often mistook for purple at first glance.
After the accident that had claimed his father's life, his mother had retreated into a psychological "shell" of sorts, desperately clinging to things that reminded her of happier times. One of these was the recent reincarnation of the "My Little Pony" franchise, and she was quick to remark on how her son's figurine bore more than a passing resemblance to a character from the show, named "Spike". Jason himself didn't see it, beyond the purple(ish) scales, green spines, and the fact that both had a sort of passion for heroics. But he listened to her ramblings about the show anyway, because she needed the support (and the villains were actually surprisingly believable, to a degree, though he'd never admit it.)
Jason shook himself from his trip down memory lane, smiled briefly at his old figure, then dropped his backpack on the bed and began working on his homework. He managed to crank out a good portion of it before dinner was ready, leaving all but the unfinished essay and a few smaller things. Dinner itself was surprisingly uneventful, without anything more surprising than ground beef in the Lasagna, which actually worked surprisingly well, and there was minimal argument when his mom tried to discuss the day's episode of MLP.
After dinner, Jason returned to his homework, finished the essay as best he could in pretty short order (essays sucked no matter what he tried, end of subject,) and started working on some of the extra credit stuff he'd brought home.
The key word, here, being "started", because something else interrupted him:
"Jaaaaaaaasooon~!" His mom called, causing him to flinch. It wasn't a harsh call: if anything, it was of a more friendly and inviting nature, meaning she wanted to show something to him. "C'mere, you gotta see this...!"
Jason sighed and set down his science textbook. "Coming!" He said, then made his way out into the rest of the house. As much as he'd rather not be dealing with homework, he knew it was more than necessary tonight. Jason found his mother on the family computer, on YouTube to be particular. There was a tab open that appeared to be for a Facebook group called "MLP Analysts", and the video she'd just finished watching appeared to be one of theirs as well, talking about the recent episode.
"What's up, mom?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, I've been chatting with these nice folks on the internet, and they seemed interested in talking to you once I mentioned you used to play D&D. Especially after I brought up your favorite character."
"Mom~!" Jason said, embarrassed. "You don't give out personal information to random folks on the internet...!"
"Jason, these MLP Analysts are wait folks." She rebutted.
"Yeah, so are identity thieves, right up until they pounce."
"Jason, be nice!" She said, slightly miffed, but smiling nonetheless. "They said they knew a few of the kids from your school as well... Ones who seem to have gone through some recent life changes, or something."
’Wait,’ Jason thought to himself, suddenly alarmed, ’She couldn't possibly be talking about the ones who turned into...!’
"Anyway," his mom continued, "they said that they wanted to talk to you personally because they think you might be able to help them with something. They weren't clear what it was, but whatever. I sent you a link to their page. Here, have a seat." She closed the YouTube tab and signed off Facebook, leaving it on the sign-in page, then got up and pulled out the chair for him.
"Mom, this isn't going to end well," Jason replied, arms loosely crossed. "I promise you that."
"Humor me." That was the only answer he got, so he sat down and signed into Facebook as his mom left the room. Indeed, there was the link, plastered all over his timeline and on his wall and stuff. Working quickly, he managed to delete the vast majority of it before one of his few school-friends could possibly see it: hopefully, he wasn't too late.
Soon, he opened one of the remaining links, and opened up a miniature chat window in the corner of the browser, and, lo and behold, there was a message waiting for him.
>Greetings, Jason. We hear, on good authority, that you like dragons...
He sighed and ran a hand over his face. This was gonna end badly, for sure. Nevertheless, he bent over the keyboard and began typing.
>Yeah, I do...
>Sorry, my mom's... you gotta understand, she's not exactly all there upstairs. Hasn't been for a while.
>Sorry she got you all worked up about this stuff... Anyways, she said you thought I could "help" you with something?
>Yes. We are pretty sure about that. What she tells us about your track record with "Dungeons and Dragons" tells volumes more than you might imagine.
>The fact that you play at all -let alone as a character as unique as "Greenspine",- is a good sign.
>It means you can understand the value of unity, and working as a team.
>You welcomed any tasks thrown before you, taking it as your duty to see them through.
>And you express the ability to embrace your destiny, both as the player and as the character.
>Not to mention the fact that you can slip into the persona of a given character quite easily, even if it's a brand new one created by a complete stranger, which allowed you to fill in for others occasionally when they were late to your sessions.
>What does that have to do with anything?
>Are you familiar with the students at your school who recently underwent transformations into humanoid versions of certain characters from MLP: FIM?
Jason leaned back in the chair in surprise. So, these guys did know something about the weird transformations! The question was, how much did they know, and how far over the Internet had this spread already? There must've been at least a dozen videos of the latest local battles up on YouTube already, among other places.
He leaned back over the keys and typed his reply in a somewhat deliberate fashion, determined to find out what they knew.
>To a certain extent, yes... It's the talk of the school, to be honest.
He would've added more, but there was already a reply incoming, so he waited. He knew from personal experience how confusing it could be when two people were typing replies simultaneously in chat rooms...
>Good, good.
> To be fair, we're in contact with each of them as well.
>In fact, we were in contact with James Radderson -the one who now resembles Twilight- since long before her transformation.
>We've been helping her and her friends become acclimated to the changes as best we can, alongside the more difficult parts of their mission.
>We highly suggest that you get in contact with them as well, should you choose to help us.
>Wait, what "mission"?
>It's something of great importance.
>There are forces at work here in this world that are beyond what even you understand.
>Your scientists would call it "quantum physics," or something similar. It encompasses the ability to manipulate the world around you at the most basic level.
>You mean, like magic? Like in fantasy novels and such?
>Exactly!
>We knew you'd understand.
>Though other folks would also call it Telekinesis, ESP, or even "The Force." It's all the same thing.
Jason laughed disdainfully at that, leaning away from the computer. Did these guys think he was an idiot? Did they think he'd believe their claims of "magic" running through the distinctly mundane world everyone lived in? He may have been a fan of fantasy, but that didn't mean he believed it was something that actually existed. Jason shook his head and began typing again.
>Oh, please. Pull the other one, it's got bells on it.
>Magic's just an old fairytale. And I'm not some naïve kid that blindly believes in that stuff anymore; I don't go running around waving a stick in the air and shouting "Alakazam!" and such.
>To put it bluntly, I've become disillusioned with this "magic" of yours, if you'll pardon the pun.
>Then you require proof... Take out your phone, the one that belonged to your father.
>Put it on a flat surface, where you can see it, and watch.
>Nothing's gonna happen…
>Humor us, please. Just this once.
>You won't be disappointed.
Jason sighed, then did as the Analysts asked. He took out his dad's old flip-phone, with its cracked and broken shell, which he'd painstakingly repaired time and again over the years. He hadn't been able to replace the camera, but otherwise, it still worked just fine. He held it in his hand for a moment, then pressed it to his lips for half a second and put it on the desk by the keyboard.
>Alright, what now?
>Give us a moment, and stand back a bit.
A few seconds later, the phone began glowing gently with a faint golden light and started rattling softly on the desk. Just as soon as the strange phenomenon had begun, it came to a halt. To Jason's surprise and concern, the phone was almost perfectly restored to its original condition. The camera was no longer cracked or missing bits of its plastic covering, nor was the rest of the shell broken anymore, though there were faint jagged lines embossed into its surface where former cracks and breaks had been.
All in all, it still looked broken at first glance, but closer inspection revealed it to be merely aesthetic in nature. Quite nice, too... and near the bottom of the keypad, there was a small message engraved:
"In loving memory..."
There was a ding from the computer, signaling that another message had arrived. Jason turned his attention back to the screen and, wiping away a tear, looked at what they had to say.
>Is this proof enough for you?
>Do we have your attention now?
>How in the hell...?
>I don't... I don't even…
>Yes, "how" indeed?
>How else, other than magic, could that have been repaired?
>How else did Twilight and her allies become what they are now, without magic?
>After all, we were the ones who facilitated their transformations, so we'd know.
>Why? What happened that necessitated their change?
>Were you just messing around? Or were you just granting the wishes of a few hardcore Bronies?
>As we said, there are powers beyond your knowledge at work, at this very moment.
>In more ways than one, that is.
>There are energies and abilities beyond common knowledge, this is true, but there are other powers as well: ones of a more socio-political nature, each competing to achieve certain ends.
>While Twilight and her friends have been more than capable as they are, the time swiftly comes where our work must delve into the shadows as well.
>What're you saying...?
>We mean that we need a new player on the field.
>A trump card. An ace in the hole.
>Someone who can fight when the time is right.
>A dark horse, if you will.
>Please don't tell me I'm gonna end up as some pony chick that's ready to start singing Kumbaya at the drop of a hat...!
>Worry not, Jason, we need you for a different purpose.
>You will not become a pony, though your gender will be affected somewhat, do not worry you will remain male but you will also need new clothes for your upper half, and you will not be compelled to sing beyond what you normally would in a given situation.
>However, your singing ability may be improved, though this is only an occasional side effect. We have no real control over that...
>Oh, well, I could live with that... possibly.
>Good to know.
>We do not ask you to decide at this exact moment, but there are some minor conditions you must keep in mind.
>If you choose to aid us, then you must get into contact with Twilight in the next few days, but do not share our conversation with her or her friends.
>However, if you choose to not join us in our endeavor, then we ask that you not interfere, or do anything that would impede our actions. We also ask that, in that eventuality, you do not reveal anything we discussed here with anyone else.
>This needs to stay covert, for now. In fact, we are even going so far as to keep the transcript of this conversation out of the records of Facebook as a whole.
Jason nodded to himself as he read the terms. It seemed simple enough, and there were no repercussions if he were to turn them down...
>Alright, I'll... I'll think about it.
>Excellent.
>As a token of our faith, we will give you a gift.
>Let it serve as a reminder that you have the power to change your destiny in your hands. You write your own story, Jason Nordson.
>For no-one's fate is set in stone until the day when it has finally come to fruition.
>And, cliché as it may sound, the pen is truly mightier than the sword: not all fights need be resolved with violence or bloodshed.
As Jason pondered the meaning (and the definitively clichéd nature of the last messages, there was another faint glow from above the desk's surface. This one, however, was a deep, midnight blue, and once it faded, there was a very sleek and expensive-looking pen sitting next to his phone. Engraved on it were the words "I work in shadows, to serve the light."
Wow, that's... sorta cheesy... Jason thought, picking it up. And why a pen? I mean, in theory, they could've sent me something less literal and more useful. Like, maybe some brass knuckles, or an actual sword. Or... maybe it's some weird dual-purpose gizmo, like on Power Rangers...?
He looked back at the monitor in time to see the Analysts' parting message.
>We'll keep in contact, Jason. A number has been added to the contacts on your phone so that you can text us if the need arises. And, above all else... choose wisely.
>Until next time, fare thee well.
Jason sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as he closed the chat window. This... This was going to get complicated. Or maybe he was just having some sort of hallucination, or he'd fallen into a coma, or... any number of other things. After all, people didn't just turn into anthropomorphic pony-girls overnight, except in mythology and such. Therefore, the last several weeks couldn't actually have happened...
"Jason? You alright?" His mom asked.
"Yeah... I'm fine, just trying to figure some stuff out."
"What'd they wanna talk about?" His mom came into the room, a look of concern on her face.
Jason thought for a moment, doing his best to keep his face straight. "Well... They were looking for some input on starting up some MLP-themed characters for a D&D campaign they were planning, and so we hashed some things out. But, since it's all wrapped up, I need to get back to my homework."
"Alright, honey... you do what you need to do." His mom said, ruffling his hair as he got up to leave, causing him to smile as he ducked out of the room. A few minutes later, he was back into the grind of his extra credit science homework, idly fiddling with the new pen as he worked through a difficult problem.
’Jeez.’ he thought to himself, ’Who would've thought that I'd actually find one of those stereotypical "two trains leave two different places at different speeds and directions, how long until X happens?" problems... I never expected them to throw in mass and inertial physics with the problem, though.’
Jason idly began clicking the button on the pen in a semi-random pattern, letting his idle attention have its way with the device while tried to work out the problem. A few seconds later, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, deciding to set this and the other two complicated problems aside until lunchtime tomorrow. He packed up his stuff, then turned back to his desk, spying the pen once more. He picked it up and turned it until he could see the inscription.
"I work in shadows, to serve the light..." he read aloud, then scoffed and shook his head with a smile. "Tch, that sounds like something out of Assassin's Creed, if Ryan's to be believed..." Jason then shifted his grip on the pen, holding it more like the hilt of a sword, and adopted a crude imitation of a fencing pose. "En garde...! Heh. Yeah, right-- Ouch...!"
Jason flinched as he felt a sudden sharp pinch in his index finger, causing him to drop the pen in response, and it fell, clattering, to the floor. Even as he wondered what had just happened, he saw the spot of blood on his finger and the corresponding spot on the side of the offending writing utensil, and as the latter spot seemed to be absorbed into the pen's surface, he felt the pain of the injury flare up again and spread into the rest of his arm.
He jumped to his feet, then gasped as the wave of pain became a wash of numbness that spread across his entire body, from head to toe. Jason abruptly felt weak, staggering involuntarily backward and falling over onto his bed, his head spinning. He tried to call out to his mom, his uncle, anyone. But his voice wouldn't come to him, and he couldn't even tell if his mouth was moving or not. He could tell that his internal temperature was skyrocketing, as a side-effect of the now-heightened cellular activity going on throughout his body.
Next thing he knew, he was stumbling into the hall bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. His whole body fairy tale in a burning itch that made his skin feel like it was trying to crawl off his very bones, which were themselves giving off their own pins-and-needles ache like they were being stretched and crushed simultaneously. And his eyes... he could barely see at all because they felt like they were being turned inside-out and upside-down, though Jason could see the mirror just enough to register that his reflection wasn't what he remembered it to be.
The once-pale skin of his face and arms was now much darker, almost the purplish color of a nasty bruise, and his eyes had become a solid emerald green, with vertically-slit pupils. His hair was falling out in a near-constant shower, and his face itself seemed like it was stretched forward, to a degree. In fact, he could still vaguely feel his skull shifting, now that he thought about it. Even his teeth ached, becoming sharp and pointed as his mouth and nose elongated into something more akin to a snout. His only thought was: "I thought they said I wouldn't become a pony...! Dear God, don't let me turn into a girl, at least..."
Jason gasped, then, his thoughts cut short, as he felt his skin split at multiple points across the surface of his body, as if cut from the inside by thousands of tiny knives. His vision began to clear at this point, allowing him to finally see what was going on: what had felt like knives were actually scales of a deep purplish hue that were pushing out through his skin, slowly sliding into position and bonding with the flesh beneath. He hurriedly tried to pull off his shirt, shredding it in the process as the tips of his fingers sharpened to pointed claws.
By now, his hair had finally all fallen out, and a new itch had developed in his ears. Jason had to lean on the sink as they became highly sensitive, and began shrinking into the side of his head. This was followed by a trio of small lime green scales budding from each side of his face and extending to cover his earholes. Once that had finished, the itch disappeared, only to reappear at the top of his head and start slowly trickling down his spine. Once more, he felt the sensation of bones stretching and the skin giving way for the new growths.
As Jason watched in the mirror, he could see exactly what was going on: lime green spines were sprouting, one by one, in a line that ran from the crown of his skull and (presumably) down his vertebrae.
Of course, he was no fool, and could now see what was going on. And whose form his rebellious body was now desperately attempting to replicate. He only had time to gasp the word "Spike" before the line of growing spines reached his tailbone, and everything below Jason's hips suddenly jumped at the chance to have their own little adventures.
First of all, his legs felt weak, like the bones within had suddenly turned to jelly, and Jason collapsed first against the door, and then to the ground, his clawed fingers tearing deep gouges in the sink as he nearly brought it down on top of himself. When he landed, it was directly on his now-extending (and highly sensitive) tailbone, eliciting a sharp gasp from his still-sore mouth as his head banged against the door again.
"Jason?" His mom called from somewhere else in the house. The next few seconds were a small eternity of extreme discomfort for Jason, who was too busy trying to process the sensation his newly-sprouted tail getting longer to even try and give his mother any answer she could be looking for. "Jason, was that you? Are you alright?"
To be fair, growing a tail was a rather distracting experience, especially since it felt (to Jason, at least,) like a third arm made of blazing hot metal was pushing its way out from his tailbone, stretching his skin like so much rubber. It also managed to tear through his underwear and bust a hole in the seat of his pants in short(ish) order. As such, Jason was still unable to utter more than a groan from the overload of signals his brain was receiving. "Jason, you alright in there?" His mom asked, now standing right outside the door.
"N-no...!" He finally managed to say, straining for the doorknob from his prone position. Oh no, were his legs supposed to be bending like that...? "Please...! Help..." Yeah, the ankles were supposed to be way lower on his legs. He could feel the bones shifting and changing, with the corresponding muscles following suit soon after. With an almost Herculean effort, given his current condition, (and the fact that his whole body felt three times heavier than normal,) he managed to lever himself into a position where he could disengage the lock.
Jason barely had time to get himself clear of the door before his mom came barging in, only to gasp when she saw him lying on the ground, just as his toes finished their unsung transformation into talons and burst out of his socks. "W-what...?" Jason's mom asked in shock.
"M-mom..." He replied, his voice a little stronger now, but still strained. "I-it's... me..." He stopped short and brought a fist to his chest as a heat grew inside his ribcage, not too dissimilar to heartburn, only milder.
"Oh... Jason..." His mother breathed, a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and shoulders shaking as she looked him over. "This is..."
"Mom, I c-can... can explain..." Jason tried, only for his mother to begin shaking more steadily, and it took him a second to realize she wasn't crying... She was laughing!
"Th-this is great!" She finally managed, between chuckles. "It's gotta be the greatest Spike cosplay I've ever seen! I wish you'd told me you were making it, though: I would love to have helped...!" Jason was stunned for a second, as his mom stood there and chuckled idly, totally misreading his current problem.
"Hey, Jim-jam!" His mom called to her brother, leaning back out of the bathroom. "Come check out this Spike cosplay Jason's wearing: It's super realistic!"
"Uh, who's this 'Spike' person supposed to be?" Jason's uncle asked, from the living room. "And why can't you two just come out here to show me, if you're so excited about it? Unless it's something fantasy-related, in which case forget about it."
"Oh, come on, Jim!" Jason's mom said, bending over and lifting Jason by his armpits, allowing him to stand quite unsteadily. "You gotta see how realistic this is!"
"Uh, no, he doesn't really need to," Jason interjected, trying in vain to keep his mom from dragging him bodily out of the bathroom. "In fact, I think I'd like to turn in for tonight and pretend this didn't happen."
"Eh, you can do that after your uncle's taken a look at you." His mom countered and continued to half-drag, half-guide him down the hall. When they got to the living room, Jason's uncle barely gave him a disinterested glance before his gaze slid back to the television, which was now showing an old episode of "Stargate: SG-1". Then his uncle froze, his head slowly turning back to face Jason, his face a mask of shock, horror, and fearful recognition.
"H-hosak... Greenspine?" He asked, his voice barely audible. "Your old D&D character? Well, I... I should've known you'd possibly go for that..." His face fell, eyes turned away as he seemed to recall a painful memory.
"No, silly!" Jason's mom said a second later. "It's not that... though I could see the resemblance too. He's Spike, from My Little Pony! You know, the little baby dragon that--"
"What?" His uncle interjected, his attention suddenly back on the present, eyes aggressively taking in every detail of Jason's new appearance. Something seemed to click in the man's mind then, as he suddenly grabbed the week's newspaper and rifled through it until he apparently found what he was looking for. He looked back and forth between his nephew and whatever was in the paper several times before abruptly crumpling the whole thing up and throwing it angrily to one side with a curse.
"So," he said at last, "it's true, isn't it? Buncha kids at your school actually got themselves turned into characters from that show?"
"Yeah, it's been the talk of the school fairytale... I don't know how long. I'm a bit worried about them, though, since some of them apparently swapped genders."
"Oh, that would be a bit of an issue for kids your age." Jason's mom added, her heart going out to them.
"... Anyways," his uncle continued, "I could understand if you'd possibly want to hang out with them a bit, given your continued interest in fantasy, (which I've tolerated out of respect for your father--)"
"Uncle Jim, I--"
"But these transformations have been spreading, and I thought you'd be strong enough to not allow yourself to let it happen to you, too. Evidently, I was wrong."
"Uncle Jim," Jason pleaded, "I haven't so much as bumped into any of those kids, before or after their transformation, let alone asked to join their number! I wasn't even involved! You think I wanted to look like... like this for the rest of my life? How am I supposed to even get a job--?"
"Not my problem." His uncle cut him off, his words stunning Jason into silence. Not so his mother, however...
"Jim!" She exclaimed, upset. "This change affects all three of us, and we should be there for Jason so we can support him. After all, he is Lucas' son -- your nephew, need I remind you, -- and-"
"No, he's not."
"...What?" She asked, barely able to form the question.
"I've read the details," Jim replied, turning back to his recliner and shaking his head. "With every person who changes like this, they start acting more like the character they've come to resemble and less like the person they used to be. Quirks, verbal habits, personality traits, abilities... Sure, they still possess the original person's memories, but for all intents and purposes, they're gone. Long story short..." He turned around again, this time holding the small handgun he'd pulled from between the seat cushions, aiming it directly at Jason's heart.
"That's not Jason. Not anymore."
Time seemed to slow down, stretching half a second into an eternity as untold legions of thoughts and fears cascaded through Jason's mind. Was it true? Had the kids who'd already become the so-called "mane six" already lost themselves to the characters they'd embodied? He had no way of knowing since he'd not been familiar with any of them on either side of their transformations. And, if they were losing themselves, was he next? How long would it take? Was he already gone? Would he even realize if (when?) it started happening?
Above all, how would he be able to prove that he was still Jason Nordson to anyone, even himself if he no longer looked like his original self? Seeing as he now wore the face of a fictional stranger instead of his own, he could -- in theory, at least, -- be anyone at all, and claim that he was still "Jason"...
"Jim...!" His mom's fearful admonishment snapped the young teen to his senses once more. "James Draconidis Sutherland, you put that gun away right now--!"
"No, Rachael." Jason's uncle interrupted, shifting his attention from his sister to her son. "You and I are all that's left of our family. The rate this is spreading, it's only a matter of time before we're changed as well; we have to stop this now. This is for Jason..."
"No...!"
Jason wasn't exactly sure what happened next. There was motion, a single familiar loud retort from his uncle's handgun, and suddenly his mom was laying against him, with a hole in her chest that spilled crimson fluid at an alarming rate.
"G-go..." She stammered to him, softly, "run... Jason..." Her eyes slid closed, but she was thankfully still breathing (for now).
Jason quickly backed away, mildly thankful that his uncle was in a state of shock at the moment, and rushed to his room.
"N-no..." He heard his uncle say, gun clattering to the floor as the man fell to his knees and gingerly reached for his fallen sister. "R-Rachael...!"
Jason quickly and quietly closed his door, then shoved his desk chair under the doorknob like he'd seen folks do on TV sometimes, and began packing. Half of him was panicking beyond belief at what had just gone down, freaking out and totally flipping his metaphorical shit. The rest, however, was calmly grabbing whatever could be called "essentials" in a situation such as this: Phone, charger, homework, (flash drive and paper copies,) spare clothes, shoes, food, wallet and cash, pocket knife, jacket, blanket, flashlight, gloves, multi tool, and a couple of his most treasured possessions.
All went into his backpack (after a few space-hogging items were dumped,) and then he remembered that stupid freaking pen which had been the cause of this whole mess. He nearly chucked it into his trash bin, or through the still-closed window, but something stopped him. Well, he thought with a frown at the accursed implement, in for a dime, in for a dollar, then pocketed it.
At this point, as if to emphasize his need to evacuate what had become an increasingly hostile situation, several shots came through his bedroom door. While they missed him by a decent margin, they were still accompanied by an exclamation of rage from his uncle down the hall. Jason had only heard it this bad once before, (not counting the few in-character fits of rage uncle Jim had entered years ago,) when someone had tried to blow off his father's death as him being "a stupid drunk".
Uncle Jim had spent a few days sobering up in a holding cell at the police station (by his own request). The other guy... well, Jason had heard tell that the guy had looked "like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone" once his uncle was done with him. Thus, Jason knew, now was the time to skedaddle. He made a running jump for his first-floor window, not bothering to open it first, and went through it with a crash before landing on the lawn. However, being unfamiliar with the anatomy of his new legs, he managed to land on them wrong in some way or another.
Not a half-second later, there was the sound of splintering wood from Jason's room as his uncle broke through the door. "Get back here, you little monster!" The man shouted, his voice carrying out into the night air. Moments later, he was the window, aiming at Jason as he tried his best to escape on an injured leg. Two shots rang out before the gun clicked empty, and both missed their intended target by miles. "Fucking lizard! Why won't you die?!"
Jason had had enough. He was tired, scared, and angry, and he wasn't going to put up with this any longer. Some part of him seemed to snap, and the strange heartburn that he'd felt post-transformation abruptly surged to alarming heights, his insides now feeling like a raging inferno.
"I'm sorry..." Jason muttered as his lungs inflated themselves to maximum capacity, and then let his newfound instincts finally take control. He exhaled, feeling something hot and volatile being projected outwards with his breath, and the world was suddenly engulfed in green flames for several seconds. A side-effect, he gasped for air, and the blindingly brilliant light of his newfound fire-breathing died out, leaving the night seemed darker than ever in its wake.
Already, Jason could hear the sirens of approaching emergency vehicles, as well as muffled curses from the direction of where he remembered his former home to have been. So, he did the only thing he could, which was to grab his bag and proceed to limp away as fast as he could.
~~~~
Hidden nearby, yet within eyesight:
"...Did you guys see that?" A lone figure asked, speaking into a small wireless headset as he tried to rub sight back into his eyes. "Actually, scratch that: literally everyone in a three-mile radius just saw that. You two sure it was wise, giving that kid those kinds of powers?"
"No, we're not sure it was wise," said a voice on the other end of the comlink, "but as you've said before; when wisdom and valor fail us, all that remains is faith..."
"And faith can overcome all, I know." The figure finished, re-establishing visual contact on the young Drake who was doing his best to slink through the shadows. "The target is on the move. Should I keep on his metaphorical tail, and make sure he's alright? He's limping pretty bad..."
"Affirmative, Storm. Keep a close eye on him, and make sure he gets to a safe place. Keep him well away from any authorities that he might risk encountering as best you can, and be discreet about it. But don't interact with him, unless there's no other option: he's in a sensitive mental space right now and needs room to decide things for himself."
"Roger that, Nest, will do; over and out." Storm acknowledged as he switched off his communication device. "Well, this'll certainly be fun..." He then muttered, idly scratching his own scaly chin as he grabbed the enchanted sniper's scope he'd been using to watch Jason. Half a second later, he vanished with a faint glimmer of emerald light and a soft whoosh just before the local emergency services arrived to swarm Jason's former place of residence.
~~~~
Jason, a fair distance from the scene:
The young man-turned-dragon made his way down the road away from his uncle's home as fast as he could, sticking to the shadows. His legs seemed to be moving him along of their own volition, despite the limp. He had no idea where he was going but anywhere was, in theory, better than the house. So, he walked on. And on.
And on.
Eventually, he found himself recognizing more and more of his surroundings, and was surprised when he realized that he had wandered into the vicinity of his school. Maybe it was because he'd been roaming about with a loaded backpack over his shoulder, or maybe it was because it was one of the few places he felt safe (considering what he'd left at home,) but for whatever reason, he'd been drawn to this place. Some part of Jason was glad he'd wound up at the school.
Now that he was here, the next matter of importance was what Jason was actually going to do, and where he was going to shelter himself while the situation blew over. He had to focus on things like that right now, lest his thoughts turn back to his mother, and how she'd been lying there... wounded... bleeding...
Jason shook his head to rid himself of the distressing thought and tried again to focus on the task at hand. Right, he thought, I have to be strong. Gotta focus... There! He looked up at the roof of the school building, remembering the handful of times that he, Ryan, and Dave (and Carson, on occasion,) had spent the night up there, working on some crazy idea or another, usually revolving around the near-impossible goal of getting them all famous or popular. And tonight, it could possibly offer him refuge once again.
Jason made his way around to the back of the school, to the location that he and his friends usually utilized in order to access the roof. As Carson had once told them when he'd shown them the spot, there was a small gap in the security cameras' coverage: a blind spot, which they'd used time and again to scale the building. However, Dave was usually the one with the compact grappling hook and paracord when they wanted to chill. In fact, he always seemed to be the one to have something (sometimes of questionable origins, like the hook,) that would get them out of a tight spot.
Of course, Jason had none of that on him right now, so he'd have to find his own way to the roof. He ran his hand against the brick wall, idly noting how his now-clawed fingers left small scratches in the individual bricks, and more noticeable gouges in the softer mortar between them. Without much of a second thought about the potential repercussions of his actions, Jason kicked off his shoes and stuck them in his backpack, then reached as high as he comfortably could.
It took barely any effort for him to sink the fingers of each hand nearly an entire inch in between the bricks, carving out functional handholds for him to use. He repeated the process with his now-bare feet, and was soon climbing the wall like a spider and reached the roof in under a minute.
’OK,’ Jason thought as he rested, that was interesting. If only I'd gotten wings out of this whole ordeal, I'd have been up here even sooner…’ He smiled, despite the situation, genuinely happy that he'd done something so cool. The moment passed quickly, though, as his thoughts turned back to the reason he was here in the first place. perhaps... I should contact those damn "analysts," and see what they make of this. Not right now, though: I'll do it tomorrow. For now, I need to try to sleep so I'm ready to roll…’
And with that, he found the warmest spot he could on the deserted rooftop, bundled up as best he could, and did his best to try and fall asleep. It was a shallow and restless slumber that he got that night, however, though the reason why was unclear. Perhaps it was the apprehension he felt about his future. Perhaps it was that he was worried about his mother's well-being, fearing that the worst had already come to pass.
Or, perhaps, he was subconsciously aware of the mysterious figure that had been watching him for most of the evening and continued to do so even now.
The next morning was no better because when Jason awoke, at last, it was to find his phone plugged into an unfamiliar portable power bank, and sitting next to a warm, plastic-wrapped plate of breakfast. There was also a pair of golf ball-sized gems on the plate: one green and one clear.
’W-what...?’ He wondered in shock, and stared off into the distance. are those... real? What're they doing here? Where did they come from? Is this some sort of joke? And who--?’
*CRRRRUNCH!*
Jason looked down at his hand, which was now holding about half of the green one, which now had what looked like a large bite out of it. He also realized he could feel something in his mouth, which tasted sort of like sour apple candy, but much sweeter, and a thousand times more... well, just more. Jason sighed.
’Well, my life's already taken a turn for the strange.’ he thought, resignedly popping the rest of the gem into his mouth. might as well follow the rabbit-hole all the way down... I must admit, though, it's pretty good.’ Once he'd finished the “food”, he looked out at the horizon, trying to come up with a plan for what to do next as he picked up his phone and dialed the Analysts' number.
Jason could only hope he'd come away from this next encounter with answers, and no more questions...
Author's Note
Hay guys decided to do a Spike story.
