Change My mind

What a dangerous mutant she was. Amelia had tracked her for days. Always, the woman had been one step ahead, as if she’d anticipated or extracted the thought from someone’s head. A slew of dead bodies lay in her wake. Important people. Influential people. Those with information at their fingertips unavailable to the average man. Information one would find very valuable. The woman was some sort of Psychic.

SUPER would have been hard-pressed to maintain secrecy while fighting over jurisdiction for the case with various other agencies... lucky for SUPER, Amelia was with MRC.

She had gained the promotion recently, and it had greatly benefited her cause. What better way to monitor cases involving dangerous mutants than to work with Mutant Related Crimes? She had worked very hard to prove her merits to the department and caught many violent mutant criminals. The recommendations had been glowing.

A certain crime boss was the next target. At least, that was Amelia’s suspicion. Once she’d started anticipating victims from MO and behaviors, rather than following the trail of dead bodies, she had gotten closer and closer to catching the woman in the act. There was a certain method she often used to gain access to difficult to reach people. She found out what they liked, and set up a delivery for it. She was the delivery agent... and they never survived once she made her delivery.

This crime boss had a thing for flowers. Orchids. Beautiful and expensive. Who would have guessed Death’s messenger would be a Hermès delivery girl in a white hat? Hermès was a messenger to the gods. Death was one of the gods. Or Hades, rather. Simple, but vain. Entirely unintentional, Amelia assumed. The woman had not been on a vengeance kick.

Amelia saw her as the woman approached the back door of a club the crime boss ran. It was a popular place at night, but in the middle of the day it wasn’t busy. The NYPD knew was a front for various crimes... the problem was proving it. Amelia never would have risked her life and career for the NYPD barging in on the crime boss’s territory. But then, the goal was to stop the woman before she entered the club. Amelia had timed it right.

Something tripped the woman as she strode towards the door, and she stumbled. Amelia took the moment to bridge the gap between them and place a hand on her shoulder. The woman in the white delivery uniform turned to stare at her, bouquet in hand.

“Claire Fitzpatrick, you and under arrest for the murders of—“ She listed several of the victims. Before she could finish, the woman’s eyes blazed with a purplish glow and she shoved Amelia back. For a moment, Amelia lost track of her train of thought. That moment was all it took for Fitzpatrick to run.

Fitzpatrick broke for the street. A beat later, Amelia chased after her. They ran down the street, and around a corner towards a parking lot. The lot was half full, but there weren’t any people around to witness the scene. Amelia called after her about resisting arrest. Her hand dropped to her side, where her gun was holstered, but the woman never got the chance to draw. A spectral tennis shoe flew into her side, and set the woman spinning into a parked car.

Claire Fitzpatrick turned at the sudden clatter, and her eyes widened at what she saw. The uniformed officer was leaning against a blue Ford Escape, teeth gritted as she clutched her side. Several feet away from her, an exact double in a different outfit stood glaring, arms raised in front of her. A white blue object that looked like a size 8 woman’s tennis shoe hovered in the air between them. It was almost transparent. Definitely not a solid object. The only difference between them, aside from the outfits was that the cop wore her hair in a ponytail and the other woman did not.

The unknown double stood in black sweats and a pink T-shirt with a black swoosh across the chest. “Bitch,” she spat. Not at Claire, oddly enough, but at herself.

—

Ruined her life, stolen her job, god only knew did what with her girlfriend— yeah, Amelia had reason to be angry with her double. She had reason in spades.

It hadn’t really been hard to find her. The idiot hadn’t ditched her own cell phone. HER phone. Her iPhone. There’s an app for finding that. All it had taken was a request from her brother to borrow his phone. Then, on the hunt, she had gone.

It would have been nice to have had the comfort blanket of a bulletproof straitjacket, or bulletproof leather coat. There hadn’t been time. There just hadn’t. She’d have needed to have replicated the psychic weaves on the material, and that wasn’t a small thing.

Amelia had only been back on her side of the rip for a handful of hours. Short enough that her double may not have already been informed by her superiors that Amelia Mellitus was on the loose. That was what she had been hoping for. The element of surprise. From the look on the woman’s face, she had hit her mark. Her double glowered, eyes like embers, darting between herself and... and somebody else. Who the hell was that?! It didn’t matter. Amelia pressed her advantage, stalking towards the fallen “cop.” She raised her arms, and let the shoe construct fly.

The construct slipped through the driver’s side window of the car as if it weren’t there, barely missing her double as doppelgänger Amelia dove down towards the pavement. Her head snapped up, and Amelia felt a sudden force against the pink shirt on her chest. It held for one second, then died away.

Their weights were the same. Doppelgänger Amelia had hoped she were heavier, with muscle and gear. No such luck. The blue line between them vanished as she ignored the annoyance for the moment, and snapped her attention towards her target. It wouldn’t do if the woman got away. She was a murderer. She would do it again. Mutants like that lost their right to be free.

Amelia’s hand snakesd out and shoved. A near-invisible ball impacted on the back of one of Fitzpatrick’s legs, by the joint of the knee. It caught her while she was running, and sent her sprawling on the hot summer pavement.

Rising, Amelia plodded towards the downed woman. Her face was like Death. She didn’t even address her annoying weaker alternate world self as she shouted at her. This was SUPER business she was interrupting. Also, how the hell had she escaped the lab?

—

The pressure was gone. Was that part of her other version’s power? They had different powers. Similar, but different. Whatever it was, it hadn’t worked like the woman had hoped. Then, she’d ignored her and moved towards that woman, again.

Amelia said some more coarse things. Usually, she wasn’t so graphic, but the woman had stolen her life and left her to rot in a cell. It was justified, God help her.

The psychic tennis shoe drifted back out of the car, and she absorbed it back into her will. Then, she chased after her anti-Amelia.

“Don’t IGNORE me!” She shouted. Amelia didn’t even bother with making a mental construct as she tackled the other woman. They landed in a pile in front of the woman in white. Amelia’s hands roamed as she groped for the gun that would surely be on “cop” Amelia’s person. If her double drew a gun, she wouldn’t be able to prevent it from turning her into Swiss cheese. The two women wrestled, as Claire Fitzpatrick looked on.

Ignore her, Claire thought. There was anger beneath the thought. Don’t ignore ME. When one is a serial killer, and gets ignored, it does something to the ego. Had she killed all those people so that they would notice her? Maybe. So that others would notice her? No. But so that she would feel good about herself? Absolutely! And here they were, ignoring her, a deadly criminal, as they rolled around in a parking lot in like idiots. It really set the blood to boiling.

Her double got her gun! And they were on the ground. Right next to a murderer! Stupid stupid!

“Argh!” SUPER Amelia grunted. “There is a time and a place, dammit. While I’m catching a serial killer is NOT the freaking time, other Me!”

She struck out in a quick knife hand that hit the woman’s wrist. The handgun spun out of her grip, landing several feet away. The safety was on. It didn’t go off.

“Now,” MRO side Amelia sneered. “Sounds fricking fantastic. Ugly.”

Amelia most certainly did not snort. “You realize we’re the same, right?”

“No. You’re the ugly one. Clearly.”

“Argh!”

And just like that, the two women devolved into fighting like teenage girls. They thrashed on the ground, clawing at eyes and pulling hair. One went for the handy grip of a ponytail. The cop woman didn’t like that. Claire looked on, in stunned silence. Stunned, because how could they both be so stupid? Neither of them was human. Why were they fighting like human plebes? The worst part was her leg was really hurt. The woman’s attack had popped something, and the best she’d be able to do to escape the both of them was to crawl away. For no other reason was she watching them fight— it was starting to really piss her off.

—

“You’re the weak one!”

“You stink!”

“You locked me in a cell for MONTHS! It’s YOUR FAULT!”

“Well they still could have hosed you off or something, for the good of the world.”

Thrash, thrash, thrash. Both Amelia’s had scratches, disheveled clothing. One had a bloodied lip. Not the cop. Claire ground her teeth.

“Like you’re any judge of good. Hag.” Amelia fought against her cop double’s hand as she tried to rake out her eyes. They rolled, and suddenly she was on top.

“Greater good. Look it— hey!” No eye raking? Okay. Amelia used her newfound positioning to slap herself in the face.

“Up.” She finished for the other woman. Because why not. “Doesn’t jive with what you did. Taking my— life.” They struggled against each other’s grips, arms straining.

“What. Life.” The SUPER agent fought dirty. She kneed her doppelgänger in the belly. The woman rolled off of her, to land on her back on hot concrete. She clutched her stomach. Somehow, pain didn’t shut up her mouth. It only inconvenienced her, so that what pink shirt Amelia said came out slow, rough.

“I don’t even want. To know. What you did with my girlfriend.” Amelia said.

There was an extended moment of silence. Then, her evil twin, the one in blue, said “Wait. You had a girlfriend?” It was too much.

Amelia’s anger exploded out of her in a sudden surge of will. Reaching out, she mentally grabbed the woman with an oversized blue psychic hand. It dragged her towards her. The doppelgänger struggled, and put up a good fight, but Amelia managed to haul her in close so that they were face to face.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Amelia’s voice was like ice.

Other Amelia’s eyes shifted. It was the first sign of guilt for her actions Amelia had ever seen. “It wasn’t in your file.” She said. Amelia’s mental grip around the woman’s waist tightened slightly.

“So?” She asked. Her tone had an edge to it.

Other Amelia blushed. “So I didn’t know to call her. Or contact her. Or not date other people.”

“You WHAT?!”

Claire acted, before anyone got any chance to fall back into childish rolling on the floor. In their struggles, they’d finally rolled close enough that she could drag herself the final few feet to be within touching range. Now it was time to shut. Them. Up. Her hands landed on each woman’s shoulder.

—

“I,” Claire said. “Have had ENOUGH! You two are insane. Fighting like children. You deserve each other. But I don’t deserve you. And you’re not going to live long enough to finish your childish fight.”

They’d done it. Filled her idiot quota. And now, she was going to end them.

It was a simple power. She invaded peoples minds, shifted things around, stole memories. Drained brains. Learned. Maybe even implanted memories, if she wasn’t in the mood to kill. The moment she had touched them, they’d been under her thrall. She was in their heads... and it was just... bullshit. Absolute junk. And twice as much.

Initially, she had wanted to drain them both. Eat their memories. Kill them and leave the husks behind, just to stop the inane prattling. But that would put their memories directly inside her brain. She didn’t want any of that. Claire Fitzpatrick was actually sane. Despite what any head shrink might say about daddy issues or sociopathic tendencies and a predilection towards violence. Their minds, though, were the real reason she didn’t just drain them like a coke can, crumple the can and toss it in a bin. The similarities called to one another... and she was losing control of her own power.

“No...” Claire said. “What are you— what’s happ—“

Two separate versions of the same person. Two what-ifs. Two similar minds. Her power had never encountered that. It didn’t know how to cope with it. And it was freaking out. It didn’t want to bring them into her. And it sure couldn’t just leave them as they were! The only option, the only solution, was... to put one person’s memories inside the head of the other. And that was what it was going to do, doing, to resolve Claire’s issues. At least, this one particular set of issues. The only question was, which container would get drained and which one would get filled?

Claire liked pink.

Amelia was dead. Amelia was alive. Amelia would never be the same, while at the same time, unfortunately, Amelia would be the same, always.

A persistent vegetative state is the scientific term one generally uses for what the Amelia on the concrete of the parking lot wasn’t feeling. The Amelia in the police uniform did not move. She did not blink. Her chest rose and fell. Life went on. There was just no one inside to enjoy the fact. As far as the entire universe was concerned, that Amelia... was dead. The one in the pink t-shirt, on the other hand, was living it up.

Perhaps “living it up” is too strong a phrase for what the Amelia in the pink shirt was doing. For the sake of simplicity, let’s call that Amelia THE Amelia. Amelia. The one in the police uniform, we can call the vegetable. Which will get even more confusing, when Amelia undresses Amelia to keep her police uniform shortly, and puts the pink shirt and sweat pants on the veggie. But look! She stirs. For the moment, disregard nomenclature. How well was Amelia living it up?

Amelia felt like a hangover with a brick strapped to its head. A brick that thoroughly wanted to smash itself into some other bricks, in order to break free. Even bricks dislike hangovers. The attack the woman had launched on her mind had been disorienting, painful, and so overwhelming she had blacked out two seconds into it, in order to spare herself from the more painful and disorienting parts. Waking up had brought them all rushing back to the forefront of her mind. Her forehead throbbed. Where was that bit—?

Gone. The woman she had been chasing was gone. ... but she hadn’t been chasing anyone. Amelia pressed the bottom of her palm into her face, and sat up on the ground. She groaned. For the moment, the weirdness of that train of thought escaped her. She felt like... crap.

Where was— her mind strained groggily for just what, exactly, it had been up to before, aside from chasing some woman. Chasing some woman. Her other self. If came back to her easy enough. And her other self had been chasing a woman, or. Or else she had, and had been being chased and— what?

Ugh.

Her eyes fell on her doppelgänger’s corpse. And just like that, she sobered up. Because the weird woman they had been chasing had killed her. And it just as easily could have been her on the ground. It felt like it WAS her on the ground. Also, she was still sitting on the ground. Amelia found her uneasy balance, and stood up.

The few steps over to her corpse felt surreal. Bending, Amelia checked for a pulse. She found one. That was a surprise. Her eyes darted around the parking lot, but she didn’t see a soul. An odd thing for New York. Maybe it was the bad neighborhood? Maybe it was the fact anyone who had been present had seen a fight going down, and made themselves absent before more cops showed up? Maybe they’d been scared of the woman who had taken out two similar looking mutant ladies on their own?

SUPER will have a field day with this. The thought skipped through Amelia’s head like it were a field of daisies, and Amelia stopped herself with another thought. When had she learned SUPER was the evil organization’s name? The last few days were a haze, so she could have learned it from somewhere else, but— her eyes fell on the vegetable. Her. She would have known. What the hell had that mystery woman done to them?

A sigh escaped Amelia. The whole scenario made her head hurt. And now... now, she needed to figure out where to dispose of a body. Less than a day back on this side of reality, and she was already worse off than back there. How in this world does a friendly lil neighborhood cop lady dispose of the copy of herself?

((OOC: continues in Beyond My Pay Grade. theultimatexmen.proboards.com/thread/14262/pay-grade-brooke ))