(Comm) Shapeshifters: Split Personality (P2)

Summary: Taking place after the events of Clara the Shapeshifter, two women wake up in different places with severe cases of amnesia, and potent shapeshifting abilities. While their attitudes towards their abilities are vastly different, both go searching for the truth of their situations. Commissioned by Moneris.

[Story Listing]

[FIRST PART]

---

Part 2

Late in the night, a woman stirred, groggily muttering something indistinct to herself. This wasn't the same woman as the one who tried to fight off a gaggle of leering construction workers, no. She was smaller, lithe, her messy, short blonde hair splayed over matted layers of cardboard and old newspapers.

WEEEEEEEEOOOOO!

She was jostled awake by the blaring of sirens from a passing fire truck, zooming past the alleyway and down the street. Nestled in the alleyway between a shawarma eatery and a flower shop, she opened her eyes as a strong beam of light slowly shifted over her weary expression.

...She paused, gawking around the alley. She didn't recognize this place at all... not that she was intimately familiar with many alleyways, especially those as dimly lit as this one at this late hour. Stranger still, she was laying under the ground, her body covered by newspapers that draped over her like blankets, the cardboard beneath her serving as a flimsy mattress.

It was a miserable sleeping situation to be sure—at least, she reasoned that she had slept here. Her memory was really out of it. She shifted slightly, trying to crawl out of her makeshift accommodations...

"...!"

She gasped sharply, immediately retreating back down when she realized the unfortunate reality; she was stark, raving naked underneath these tattered newspapers. In public! It was indecent, and if a policeman spotted her, she would certainly be arrested for indecent exposure! Oh lord, it was too much to bear, what if someone had been watching her this entire time...??

"Oh, yer awake now, missy?"

She yelped sharply, her body turning in the direction of a voice she didn't recognize, possessively clutching a newspaper to her chest. Her cheeks flared up as her brown eyes stared at him, studying him carefully.

From his rather disheveled look, he seemed... homeless, at an educated glance. He had a messy, unshaven beard, speckled with emerging grey hairs that matched his tired expression and his shaggy hair that poked out from underneath a well-worn baseball cap. His jeans were scuffed up, with holes around the knees, and his jacket had the fabric torn in scattered places for the down layer to poke out.

"Wh, who are you!?" The woman blustered, her body trembling. "H-how long have you been staring at me like that for!? Stop it!"

"A-ah, well, sorry miss, I... I didn't mean t' scare ya or nothin'." He smiled politely, running a hand through his hair. "You need a change of clothes? I think I scrounged a little somethin' up for you..."

The woman's reflexive tension eased away somewhat with the man's easygoing, jovial response. Her eyes focused on the plastic bag he had at his side, presumably a holdover from someone's grocery run. He tossed it to her side.

She looked over it curiously. This was... a change of clothes? She reached around inside and found a rather nice looking magenta sweater, and with it a pair of black yoga pants. These were in much better shape than whatever the old man was wearing... and were these dress shoes??

"Helped myself to a donation bin up the road there." He gestured. "They don't really like takin' donations of the, well... unmentionables, y'know how it is."

"...I... thank you." She studied his expression, and detected no leery malice from him. She folded up the change of clothes and lowered them back into the bag. "But... why go through all this effort, mister...?"

"Call me Chuck." He shrugged. "The city's a rough place, and folk like us gotta stick together, right? Shoot, I dunno what else I was supposed to do... when you stumble upon a naked woman passed out in the alley the way you was, I can't really just go pretendin' I didn't see nothing."

The woman's cheeks flashed scarlet again at his words. Her eyes drifted to the side. "You... you found me... naked...?"

"Yes'm." He nodded. "I wasn't gonna ask questions... I just, figured you'd catch a cold like that, and you wouldn't wake up when I nudged you, so I threw together a bed for ya. You sleep alright?"

"...I..." She looked over her present living arrangement. Truthfully, this should've made for a miserable experience, and she should've been dreadfully sore, spending the night passed out on hard concrete with no support. But she felt... fine, actually.

"I... I suppose I did." She blinked. "Um, I don't mean to rude, but could I ask you to... turn around? While I... get changed."

"Oh, quite alright. I'll just rest my eyes for a spell..."

Chuck leaned back against the brick wall, his hands settling into his lap. The woman sheepishly grabbed for the bag of clothes and hurriedly threw on her clothes. Her hands brushed at her body as she draped the sweater over her shoulders. She marvelled at the smoothness of her skin, and the apparent lack of hair anywhere along her body. There weren't any blemishes or scars either... it had a supple quality, full of life, almost glowing, and so soft to the touch too. It was mesmerizing...

...She blushed, reflexively covering her legs. She had to get those pants on too, so she shuffled forward to slip her legs through. Her thighs had definition, and the fabric wrapped around her ass with a gentle touch. She looked over herself one more time, admiring her pronounced buxom in turn. She did wish she had a mirror to admire herself properly, but alas... if one was just lying around here, it was probably shattered into a million pieces.

She turned to Chuck, who settled into a deep sleep, his head lolling to the side. She blinked; it had hardly been five minutes, and he was out like a light? He was snoring too, my goodness...

...A particularly loud, phlegmy inhalation caught in his throat, and he woke up with a start, coughing into a balled fist; he rubbed his eyes wearily. "Oh, my, I zonked right out there again, huh? Ihihi..."

This, at least, got a smile out of the gentle woman; she raised her hand to her mouth, chuckling along with him. She tested out her new shoes... mm, they weren't the best for walking, but beggars couldn't be choosers. She knelt down to look him in the eye.

"I... I'm sorry I lashed out at you before. I'm not... used to this sort of situation." She admitted sadly. "T-this is... such a dizzying experience, I-"

"Oh, it's quite alright, I've had worse flung at me..." He smiled encouragingly. "It does worry an old fart like me to see a pretty lady like you strewn about in an alley the way you were... what's your name, if you don't mind my asking?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but paused. She ended up drawing a blank. She frowned to herself, letting out a grunt of displeasure. It felt like it was on the tip of her tongue, but she just... couldn't recall.

"I... I don't remember." She rubbed her temples. "Did I sustain a concussion, or... or something? I might need to see a doctor..."

"Oh, dear..." Chuck frowned, shaking his head. "You must've had a dreadful night. But passing out in alleyways is no way to be. Do you have a home you can go to?"

"...I don't know." She grimaced, clutching her head. "Ugh, I'm trying to think straight, but I can't remember anything. It's like my brain's on a perpetual cycle of... being stuck in the mud..."

"Mm... maybe you should visit the police station." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It wouldn't do to stay here longer than you have to-"

"HEY! Fuck you, you... piece'a shit layabout..."

Chuck was cut off as he was accosted by a shady looking man in a teenager. From a glance, the woman could tell he was in his mid-twenties, and from his weird, staggering gait, that he was thoroughly inebriated. Chuck glanced up, his mouth flattening as he saw the man reaching into his pocket.

He was reaching for... a pocket knife!? The woman gasped; she had a terrible premonition.

"H-hey there now, I'm just mindin' my own business..." Chuck held up his hands. "Just turn around and head home, okay? It doesn't have to end in-"

"FUCK OFF!" The drunken man snapped, before hiccupping deliriously. "Seein' yer, yer rot about town's a goddamn eyesore... fuckin city ain't gonna do shit about it..."

He snickered, malice dripping from his twisted smile as he approached slowly. He twirled the knife in his hands, closing the gap between Chuck and himself; his steps widened as he stomped forward with renewed purpose.

"JUST DIE YOU MUTT!" The man lunged forward, knife raised above his head as Chuck tried to crawl away to save himself.

"DON'T YOU HURT HIM!!" The woman scrambled forward, raising her hands upward to block the knife as she charged forward to meet the drunken attacker!

"WAIT! DON'T-"

Shnk! She winced as a piercing sensation slipped through the right palm of her hand. Her instinctual response was to try and catch the blade and toss it aside, but she didn't have the technique or strength to overpower the man. So the blade traveled, through her palm and...

Shlick. Directly into her exposed neck. Her eyes widened as the cold blade pierced her skin, twisting inside of her. She wondered if she was in shock, or if he had hit a nerve, because she simply froze up. She didn't feel any pain, only her skin wetly hugging the blade.

"...Huh?" The man gawked. "The fuck is this??"

The man drew his knife back, looking her over to see if she would start bleeding out... but she didn't. The woman raised her trembling hand, gawking at the hole in her hand the knife left behind. She didn't see any bone, or sinew, or gashed muscles... only a slick cut through, like the man had cut through clay.

Her face grew pale as, with a wet shlick, her skin pressed back together, sealing the hole and firming up. She experimentally opened and closed the palm of her hand... it was as if she had never been stabbed at all! She raised a hand to her neck, her eyes widening as she felt for a stab wound... but it wasn't there! Had it sealed up too?

Judging by the reactions of the other two men in the alleyway... it must have. Had a miracle occurred?

"Are... are you some kinda lizard person??" The drunken man gawked. The hand holding the knife trembled... before he steeled his nerve.

"DIEEEE!!"

She screamed as the man lunged at her again, pinning her to the ground. Her entire body yielded far too easily to his weight, she could hardly breath as he pressed a hand against her chest. He swung at her over and over again, the knife piercing her chest, her head, her arms... she lost vision in one eye as the knife pierced her head in one eye.

All she could do was scream in absolute terror at the hands of this vicious lunatic... oblivious to how her body rippled after each stable wound, her body opening with holes along her upper body. It was a hack job, but her body offered no resistance. Even with his shitty-looking knife, her body yielded like wet tissue.

She couldn't summon the strength to resist his assault, so she screamed her heart out. Chuck tried to stagger to his feet to shove him off, but he was stunned into a state of shock! It had all happened so fast...

"GET OFF'A HER YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!"

Another figure bolted into the alley, tackling the crazed drunkard down into the alleyway. The woman couldn't make out what was going on... there was a sharp crash, the banging of two bodies against a far dumpster, the struggling of two men going at it, the clattering of a knife. She lay there, prone, staring upwards, her emotions riding a terrible high.

There was the pounding of fists against bone as the newcomer pounded the drunkard to a state of bloodied unconsciousness. The shadowy figure loomed over the woman, examining her wounds.

"Oh god... fuck, this is bad.."

She cocked her head to the side, trying to focus her remaining good eye to make out the figure's face. Had he come to help? She tried to move, but she felt all out of shape. She was oblivious to how her head had nearly been hacked clean from her body, attached by a few gummy threads of... ooze, the same pigment of her own skin.

"Am I... am I going to die...?" She asked the man. She didn't feel as though she was in pain at all... but she felt oddly sticky all over, her arms and legs clinging to the concrete. Maybe she was bleeding out... it was the only sensible conclusion.

"You're still alive!?" The man sputtered. "L-listen, just stay awake, okay, just... don't move around too much!"

"Oh... okay..." The woman focused inwards, trying to recenter herself. She remained oblivious to her body's various piercings sealing themselves up slowly... how strands of ooze sprouted from her neckline, slithering to her head, and pulled her head down.

"Wh... what the..." The man watched, astounded as the woman's body reformed, her head straightening out from what must've been a fatal attack! The seam connecting her head and neck smoothed out on its own, as if it hadn't been cut apart at all. And her skin, once hole-ridden but now smooth and bare, looked almost porcelain in its perfect smoothness.

"...What the hell did you do...?" The man kneeled down. "A-are you hurting?"

"...Physically, no... emotionally, very..." The woman admitted, tears welling up in her eyes.

Her vision corrected itself as she looked up at the man. He was a rough-looking man, with some stubble around his chin. He had a serious look to him, a hard-boiled look that matched his button-up plaid shirt and his short, black hair. He had the stench of smoke and whisky on him... it assaulted her senses.

But it was his eyes that stood out. They were a gentle blue, and she could see herself reflected in them. This man was genuinely worried for her.

"Listen... my name's Bruce Finnigan. I'm a private eye." He lowered his hand. "Can you walk? I want to ask you some questions."

The woman stared... and then nodded slowly.

[NEXT PART]