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Description
There were a few close calls in my life. The first one was the day I was born, when the umbilical cord was cut and it shriveled away immediately. Then there were quite a few times when I was little and scraped my knee or something. I would cry because it hurt, but any wounds would be gone before an adult got there, and they scolded me because I was obviously just crying for the attention. It wasn't until my neighbor also scraped his knee and it didn't heal right away that I realized something about me was different.
I quickly learned to explain it away, even when I was little. I wouldn't cry even when I got hurt pretty badly, because it always went away before anyone had time to examine it. Most of the time I just tried to hide anything that happened until it healed itself, which was pretty quickly. Still, like I said, there were close calls. When a bully punched me so hard a tooth flew out of my mouth, only to see that it had grown back a few minutes later. When we were playing football in gym class and I got tackled; everyone was positive they'd heard a bone snap, but my arm was completely fine by the time the nurse came to look at it. When a friend was driving me to the movies and we got in a crash; he suffered permanent brain damage but I, despite the shards of glass that should've torn me to ribbons, was unscathed.
People always explained it away for me, really, since they didn't want to think about how something like that could happen. But I couldn't even call the healing of my organic chemistry professor a close call, since I was the one who took the initiative to save him. It's not a close call if you know they're seeing it. But what was I supposed to do?
I was on my way to my dorm when it happened. It was late, but with all the security the university had, there wasn't much crime. Besides, the building was only a block away. I would have been fine, but I guess the same couldn't be said for Dr. Harper. The mugging was concluding right as I turned a corner, so I spun around and hid, biting back a yelp. I couldn't help by just charging in there, a sense of self-preservation that I've since lost, but it helped me that night. After my teacher's assailant's laughter had faded away, I rushed to his side, eyes widening at what I saw.
Oh, he was in bad shape. There were bruises everywhere, blood was steadily streaming from his nose and a cut on his forehead, and a gentle poke to the ribs and the following shriek assured me a few of them were broken. The worst part, though, was a stab wound in his stomach. He would surely die if I didn't do something.
I couldn't. He was still conscious, he would see it.
But he would DIE. I couldn't let him die, not when I could help him.
I might not even be able to do anything. I'd only tried out my healing powers on, like, squirrels that had gotten run over.
But if I could save him, I had to at least try, right?
The rest is history, really. I couldn't take the Hippocratic oath when I graduated, not knowing that I let my organic chem professor bleed out on the sidewalk. So I gently covered the wound with my hands, focusing on trying to stitch the skin and muscles and veins back together, opening my eyes and lifting my bloody fingers when I felt the gash close under them.
Dr. Harper's breathing had steadied somewhat, but it was ragged, and his eyes still seemed incapable of opening, so I healed his ribs next. After all, if he couldn't see me, he couldn't identify me, right? One by one the bone returned to its previous position, me cautiously looking around as I did so. I had just finished "resetting" the last of them when his eyes popped open, looking straight at me.
I completely froze, our eyes inevitably meeting. He saw me, all right. I frantically looked from side to side, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I could hide a knocked-out tooth with my foot and say sorry, Sean, you were mistaken in thinking your punch was that hard, but how do you explain away newly perfect ribs and a healed stab wound?
Dr. Harper would be fine now as long as he got to a hospital, so I shakily got up, him still staring at me the entire time.
"U-Um... Crap... Get well soon?"
Well that was stupid, so I proceeded to run to my dorm and call an ambulance, washing any blood off my hands.

He didn't come back for a week. Everyone was talking about it, though. The muggers, two former students of his, had meant to leave him for dead. They had no idea how the stab wound and broken ribs disappeared. Those interested enough to talk about it dismissed it as arrogance, and every time someone talked to me about it I quietly nodded, completely losing it on the inside.
But the CIA didn't break down my door, I was never called in for questioning, I had yet to be whisked away to some secret lab where I'd be poked with needles everyday. So Dr. Harper hadn't told anyone. The day before he returned, I convinced myself that he probably thought it was some sort of weird fever-without-a-fever dream, or maybe he didn't even remember it at all. After all, we'd only spoken once, and even then it was with some other students. It was unlikely he even knew who I was, so no way he'd be able to piece together what happened from a half-conscious glimpse. Uh uh, no siree.
But when I arrived in class the next day, he looked straight at me. I tried to act natural, but that's pretty difficult when someone finds out you can completely heal fatal wounds just by thinking about it. He certainly was able to carry on like nothing had happened, sans a little assurance to the class that he was fine and that, yes, the test was still going to be in four days. I couldn't even worry about that, even though I had yet to study. Every little bit of anxiety in my body filtered into an unadulterated fear that he knew what I was capable of and planned to report me to the authorities, who would erase my existence and keep me locked away in some titanium base four hundred feet underground.
As you can probably tell, I've thought about this a lot.
But no one else would've been the wiser to my internal panic or his supposed plans. Dr. Harper didn't miss a beat, and no one paid any attention to me, anyway. I was in the middle of assuring myself for the thousandth time that I would be fine, he probably looked at every student that came in, when he asked me a question.
I don't even remember what it was. Something about the chemical formula for healthy red blood cells, maybe? I dunno. I answered it without thinking, but I'm pretty sure it was correct, because he didn't talk to me again. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he'd asked a student a question twice, MAYBE, this entire year, and the people he called on were nothing like me. Oh no, he had just wanted to hear my voice, because I talked to him like an idiot.
I had never been so happy for a class to end, even though I was so tense I almost tripped from shaking so much. I wholeheartedly believed Dr. Harper would ask me to stay behind, do something to confirm that it was me who saved him. That would be it. My life would be over.
Or he'd give me an A for, you know, saving his life. That would be stupendous.
But neither happened. As I hurried out the door, he didn't even look my way, opting to write something on the board instead, an action I was totally okay with. I practically sprinted to my dorm, making a concerted effort NOT to look into dark alleys, and collapsed on the dirty carpet. I ended up just playing Ace Attorney for the rest of the day, yelling "OBJECTION!" and "HOLD IT!" at the screen in an attempt to release the pent-up stress. I'm surprised my neighbors didn't call campus police on me.
There was another organic chem-less day that I spent assuring myself that I was fine, and an entire organic chem class that he ignored me. I was fine. Totally good.
Until he called my name again, this time after class.
"Dex." I froze, suddenly shaking a little. "That's what your friends call you, right? Would you rather me use your real name?"
"No," I replied without looking at him. "Dex is fine."
"Alright. You okay?" I took a deep breath and turned his way. I was most definitely NOT okay, but he didn't need to know that.
"Yeah. Fine. I'm fine." Pfft, I was such a liar.
"There's no need to be frightened," Dr. Harper chuckled. "I may be intimidating, but I don't bite. Come here, I just wanted to talk to you about the lab last week." Okay. That made sense. I didn't understand that assignment at all, so it'd make sense if he was confused about any of the bullshit I wrote down. Completely norm-
It was around this time he pounced, shoving a cloth over my nose and mouth, his eyes mean and determined. I fought as hard as I could, but I'm not the biggest guy around, and definitely not the strongest. Suddenly I wished I'd let one or two ribs stay broken. Then I might've stood a chance.
Not now, though. Now, he easily kept me pinned against the board, and I imagine my struggles erased whatever it was that he'd just written down the class before. That was the worse I could do to him before passing out.

This was the first (but certainly not the last) time chloroform was shoved in my face, so it took a bit longer to wake up. This happened while I was, also not for the last time, tied up in the trunk of a car. It took a minute to realize this, though.
This was also the first time I'd been tied up by someone who did NOT wish me well. (Don't ask about the first time.) The feeling was completely foreign, especially in my drugged state, but after a few minutes of trying to separate my ankles and move my hands to remove whatever covered my mouth, my position became fairly obvious. Another minute of focused, panicked movement gave me a rough idea of what I must've looked like: hands and feet bound with rope and connected in a hog tie, multiple strips of tape plastering my mouth shut.
"MMPH!" Yeah, this is the part where I started freaking out.
Dr. Harper must have heard me thrashing in his trunk, because I felt the engine roar and the car speed up. It knocked me backwards against the tail lights, and I tried my darnedest to knock them out, but when you're as tightly hog tied as I was, it's basically impossible. He must've been afraid I would still manage to do it, though, because he was flooring it and only slowed down when I heard a garage door open. This didn't help my rising panic attack at all, and I screamed as loud as I could until the clattering of chains and wood stopped and the trunk door opened.
Dr. Harper had that same expression as before, the mean and determined one, which made me freak out when he pulled a knife from his belt. I had to calm myself down as he cut the rope securing me in a hog tie, causing my ankle binds fell away as well. He dragged me out of the trunk and pushed me towards a door leading inside.
"Walk." Oh hell no. I shook my head, digging my heels into the floor. He growled and took my ponytail, dragging me forwards while I whimpered, now pretty desperate to keep up. I was blinking back tears of pain for the most part, but I managed to see him open a door to a set of stairs leading downwards. It was straight out of a horror movie, with the flickering lightbulb and everything, but my choices were clear: either walk with him or get pushed to the bottom. I chose the less painful option.
It suddenly became clear why Dr. Harper taught chemistry. His basement had been converted into a laboratory, lined with jars of animal fetuses and beakers that endlessly emitted steam. Oh God, my professor was a mad scientist, and I was about to be dissected alive.
Don't worry, my squeamish friends. That didn't actually happen until later.
He pushed me into a chair and quickly tied my ankles to the legs, preventing any of my kicks from making contact. I continued to struggle as he secured one of my arms to the slats in the back of the chair, and gasped when he cut his own arm, letting the blood drip a little before cutting my other one free.
"Heal it." I gave him my best "What the hell are you talking about" look, but he wasn't buying it. Dr. Harper slapped me hard across the cheek and went on, "Heal. It. I saw you do it." I growled and shook my head, wishing this stupid gag would come off so I could explain to him just how much I hoped that cut would give him tetanus. He responded by pressing the knife against my cheek, not even bothering to order me around anymore. And since I knew this would only get worse if he knew about the whole 'all wounds heal themselves' thing, I shakily lifted my free hand to the cut, withdrawing once it had disappeared completely.
He marveled at the spot where the wound used to be, and I quietly tried to untie my restricted hand. I didn't get far, though, and he grabbed my wrist and pressed it against the arm of the chair, slashing at my cheek anyway. I yelped and turned away, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping he wouldn't look, but it's not like I was having much luck that day anyway.
"What?" I stayed still, feeling the cut already starting to disappear. "What are you hiding?" He dropped the knife and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look his way just in time for the skin to finish sewing itself back together. His eyes widened even further and he ripped the tape off my mouth, eliciting a scream of pain. "How'd you do that?" I responded with a word that probably wouldn't have pleased my mother, which just resulted in another slap on my newly-healed cheek. "I asked you a question!"
"I-I don't know!" I answered, too panicked for my usual sass to do me much good. He glared for a moment before letting go, and I immediately tried to reach for the knife on the floor. He didn't seem to care as he went over to one of those animal fetus tables and prepared something I did NOT want to think about, so I went on like that for a few more seconds before realizing there was no way I'd reach it with my arm bound the way it was. I went back to trying to untie it, so focused that I didn't see Dr. Harper approach until he was right in front of me, soaked cloth in hand.
"N-No!" I shouted, eyes widening. "I'll do what ymmmph!" He didn't let me finish, and I tried to push against him and the chloroform with my free arm, but it wasn't any good, not when I was still tired from last time and only one limb was free.

Have you ever heard a sound and thought to yourself, "Man, I hope I don't ever wake up and hear THAT"? If not, that's fine. It's a niche thing. But let me go ahead and tell you this: you never, EVER want to wake up to the sound of a knife sharpening.
So, unsurprisingly, that was the first thing I heard upon regaining consciousness. I blinked several times and Dr. Harper came into focus back at the fetus table, multiple bottles and knives on either side of him. This woke me up pretty quickly, and upon frantically trying to get away, I found myself on some kind of lab table. My mouth was taped again, my wrists, ankles, and lower stomach were all strapped to it, and my shirt was gone, dotted incision lines burning against that same stupid flickering bulb.
I was right. He was going to dissect me like a frog in biology class, and he probably wasn't even going to put me back to sleep for it.
(Really, don't worry, that's a story for another day.)
Dr. Harper looked over his shoulder and grunted upon seeing that I was awake, struggling and whimpering against the restraints. He carefully picked out a scalpel and approached.
"I suppose you're one of those people born with powers, Dex," he told me, lightly dragging the knife across the dotted line. "Well, this is the most useful power I've ever heard of." His face shattered and morphed into the most terrifying, insane grin I'd seen up to that point, and I couldn't hold back a muffled scream. "You want to be a doctor, don't you? Think of all the people you'll save!" I squeezed my eyes shut and stopped squirming, not wanting this to hurt anymore than it had to. I felt the knife touch the lines again, then lift...
... then nothing.
My eyes popped open upon hearing Dr. Harper scream, and I was just in time to see him swipe at someone else, someone I'd never seen before. That person grunted in pain before punching him clean across the room, storming over to his unconscious body and stuffing it in a closet before leaning against a wall, grabbing his shoulder and wincing in pain.
But it wasn't a guy. She looked like an Amazon warrior from a conquistador's travel journal, tall, dark, and muscular, and was dressed like a Dungeons and Dragons character, and to be honest I felt like kissing her right then and there. But I wasn't gonna do that, of course, not now that I knew she could probably throw me over state lines. But there was something I could do.
"Mmm!" Oh, right, I was gagged. Fantastic. Her head shot up and she stumbled in my direction, still clutching the wound at her shoulder. She ripped the tape off, probably trying to be gentle, but it really just hurt as bad as the first time. "Untie me, I can help you."
"Can you?" she repeated, grinning. Nonetheless, she tapped at the belts securing me to the table, each one disintegrating at her touch. So she had powers, too. But that wasn't what I needed to be focusing on right now. I sat up and pressed my hands over the slash on her shoulder. She yelped at the touch and was probably about to lock me in the closet with Dr. Harper, but her eyes widened, just like his did, as the wound closed beneath my fingers. After I pulled my hands back in and sat cross-legged on the table, we both remained silent, astonished to have found another person with superpowers after undoubtedly feeling alone.
"Thanks," she finally said, touching the spot were the gash had been.
"No, thank you!" I replied, hopping off the table. "I... I don't know what he was going to do to me." That was a lie, and an obvious one as I tried to rub the incision lines off my stomach, but she didn't say anything. "I'm, uh... My friends call me Dex." We finally locked eyes, and she smiled.
"Valthura the Destroyer," she told me with a chuckle. "But my friends call me Val."

Description
There were a few close calls in my life. The first one was the day I was born, when the umbilical cord was cut and it shriveled away immediately. Then there were quite a few times when I was little and scraped my knee or something. I would cry because it hurt, but any wounds would be gone before an adult got there, and they scolded me because I was obviously just crying for the attention. It wasn't until my neighbor also scraped his knee and it didn't heal right away that I realized something about me was different.
I quickly learned to explain it away, even when I was little. I wouldn't cry even when I got hurt pretty badly, because it always went away before anyone had time to examine it. Most of the time I just tried to hide anything that happened until it healed itself, which was pretty quickly. Still, like I said, there were close calls. When a bully punched me so hard a tooth flew out of my mouth, only to see that it had grown back a few minutes later. When we were playing football in gym class and I got tackled; everyone was positive they'd heard a bone snap, but my arm was completely fine by the time the nurse came to look at it. When a friend was driving me to the movies and we got in a crash; he suffered permanent brain damage but I, despite the shards of glass that should've torn me to ribbons, was unscathed.
People always explained it away for me, really, since they didn't want to think about how something like that could happen. But I couldn't even call the healing of my organic chemistry professor a close call, since I was the one who took the initiative to save him. It's not a close call if you know they're seeing it. But what was I supposed to do?
I was on my way to my dorm when it happened. It was late, but with all the security the university had, there wasn't much crime. Besides, the building was only a block away. I would have been fine, but I guess the same couldn't be said for Dr. Harper. The mugging was concluding right as I turned a corner, so I spun around and hid, biting back a yelp. I couldn't help by just charging in there, a sense of self-preservation that I've since lost, but it helped me that night. After my teacher's assailant's laughter had faded away, I rushed to his side, eyes widening at what I saw.
Oh, he was in bad shape. There were bruises everywhere, blood was steadily streaming from his nose and a cut on his forehead, and a gentle poke to the ribs and the following shriek assured me a few of them were broken. The worst part, though, was a stab wound in his stomach. He would surely die if I didn't do something.
I couldn't. He was still conscious, he would see it.
But he would DIE. I couldn't let him die, not when I could help him.
I might not even be able to do anything. I'd only tried out my healing powers on, like, squirrels that had gotten run over.
But if I could save him, I had to at least try, right?
The rest is history, really. I couldn't take the Hippocratic oath when I graduated, not knowing that I let my organic chem professor bleed out on the sidewalk. So I gently covered the wound with my hands, focusing on trying to stitch the skin and muscles and veins back together, opening my eyes and lifting my bloody fingers when I felt the gash close under them.
Dr. Harper's breathing had steadied somewhat, but it was ragged, and his eyes still seemed incapable of opening, so I healed his ribs next. After all, if he couldn't see me, he couldn't identify me, right? One by one the bone returned to its previous position, me cautiously looking around as I did so. I had just finished "resetting" the last of them when his eyes popped open, looking straight at me.
I completely froze, our eyes inevitably meeting. He saw me, all right. I frantically looked from side to side, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I could hide a knocked-out tooth with my foot and say sorry, Sean, you were mistaken in thinking your punch was that hard, but how do you explain away newly perfect ribs and a healed stab wound?
Dr. Harper would be fine now as long as he got to a hospital, so I shakily got up, him still staring at me the entire time.
"U-Um... Crap... Get well soon?"
Well that was stupid, so I proceeded to run to my dorm and call an ambulance, washing any blood off my hands.

He didn't come back for a week. Everyone was talking about it, though. The muggers, two former students of his, had meant to leave him for dead. They had no idea how the stab wound and broken ribs disappeared. Those interested enough to talk about it dismissed it as arrogance, and every time someone talked to me about it I quietly nodded, completely losing it on the inside.
But the CIA didn't break down my door, I was never called in for questioning, I had yet to be whisked away to some secret lab where I'd be poked with needles everyday. So Dr. Harper hadn't told anyone. The day before he returned, I convinced myself that he probably thought it was some sort of weird fever-without-a-fever dream, or maybe he didn't even remember it at all. After all, we'd only spoken once, and even then it was with some other students. It was unlikely he even knew who I was, so no way he'd be able to piece together what happened from a half-conscious glimpse. Uh uh, no siree.
But when I arrived in class the next day, he looked straight at me. I tried to act natural, but that's pretty difficult when someone finds out you can completely heal fatal wounds just by thinking about it. He certainly was able to carry on like nothing had happened, sans a little assurance to the class that he was fine and that, yes, the test was still going to be in four days. I couldn't even worry about that, even though I had yet to study. Every little bit of anxiety in my body filtered into an unadulterated fear that he knew what I was capable of and planned to report me to the authorities, who would erase my existence and keep me locked away in some titanium base four hundred feet underground.
As you can probably tell, I've thought about this a lot.
But no one else would've been the wiser to my internal panic or his supposed plans. Dr. Harper didn't miss a beat, and no one paid any attention to me, anyway. I was in the middle of assuring myself for the thousandth time that I would be fine, he probably looked at every student that came in, when he asked me a question.
I don't even remember what it was. Something about the chemical formula for healthy red blood cells, maybe? I dunno. I answered it without thinking, but I'm pretty sure it was correct, because he didn't talk to me again. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he'd asked a student a question twice, MAYBE, this entire year, and the people he called on were nothing like me. Oh no, he had just wanted to hear my voice, because I talked to him like an idiot.
I had never been so happy for a class to end, even though I was so tense I almost tripped from shaking so much. I wholeheartedly believed Dr. Harper would ask me to stay behind, do something to confirm that it was me who saved him. That would be it. My life would be over.
Or he'd give me an A for, you know, saving his life. That would be stupendous.
But neither happened. As I hurried out the door, he didn't even look my way, opting to write something on the board instead, an action I was totally okay with. I practically sprinted to my dorm, making a concerted effort NOT to look into dark alleys, and collapsed on the dirty carpet. I ended up just playing Ace Attorney for the rest of the day, yelling "OBJECTION!" and "HOLD IT!" at the screen in an attempt to release the pent-up stress. I'm surprised my neighbors didn't call campus police on me.
There was another organic chem-less day that I spent assuring myself that I was fine, and an entire organic chem class that he ignored me. I was fine. Totally good.
Until he called my name again, this time after class.
"Dex." I froze, suddenly shaking a little. "That's what your friends call you, right? Would you rather me use your real name?"
"No," I replied without looking at him. "Dex is fine."
"Alright. You okay?" I took a deep breath and turned his way. I was most definitely NOT okay, but he didn't need to know that.
"Yeah. Fine. I'm fine." Pfft, I was such a liar.
"There's no need to be frightened," Dr. Harper chuckled. "I may be intimidating, but I don't bite. Come here, I just wanted to talk to you about the lab last week." Okay. That made sense. I didn't understand that assignment at all, so it'd make sense if he was confused about any of the bullshit I wrote down. Completely norm-
It was around this time he pounced, shoving a cloth over my nose and mouth, his eyes mean and determined. I fought as hard as I could, but I'm not the biggest guy around, and definitely not the strongest. Suddenly I wished I'd let one or two ribs stay broken. Then I might've stood a chance.
Not now, though. Now, he easily kept me pinned against the board, and I imagine my struggles erased whatever it was that he'd just written down the class before. That was the worse I could do to him before passing out.

This was the first (but certainly not the last) time chloroform was shoved in my face, so it took a bit longer to wake up. This happened while I was, also not for the last time, tied up in the trunk of a car. It took a minute to realize this, though.
This was also the first time I'd been tied up by someone who did NOT wish me well. (Don't ask about the first time.) The feeling was completely foreign, especially in my drugged state, but after a few minutes of trying to separate my ankles and move my hands to remove whatever covered my mouth, my position became fairly obvious. Another minute of focused, panicked movement gave me a rough idea of what I must've looked like: hands and feet bound with rope and connected in a hog tie, multiple strips of tape plastering my mouth shut.
"MMPH!" Yeah, this is the part where I started freaking out.
Dr. Harper must have heard me thrashing in his trunk, because I felt the engine roar and the car speed up. It knocked me backwards against the tail lights, and I tried my darnedest to knock them out, but when you're as tightly hog tied as I was, it's basically impossible. He must've been afraid I would still manage to do it, though, because he was flooring it and only slowed down when I heard a garage door open. This didn't help my rising panic attack at all, and I screamed as loud as I could until the clattering of chains and wood stopped and the trunk door opened.
Dr. Harper had that same expression as before, the mean and determined one, which made me freak out when he pulled a knife from his belt. I had to calm myself down as he cut the rope securing me in a hog tie, causing my ankle binds fell away as well. He dragged me out of the trunk and pushed me towards a door leading inside.
"Walk." Oh hell no. I shook my head, digging my heels into the floor. He growled and took my ponytail, dragging me forwards while I whimpered, now pretty desperate to keep up. I was blinking back tears of pain for the most part, but I managed to see him open a door to a set of stairs leading downwards. It was straight out of a horror movie, with the flickering lightbulb and everything, but my choices were clear: either walk with him or get pushed to the bottom. I chose the less painful option.
It suddenly became clear why Dr. Harper taught chemistry. His basement had been converted into a laboratory, lined with jars of animal fetuses and beakers that endlessly emitted steam. Oh God, my professor was a mad scientist, and I was about to be dissected alive.
Don't worry, my squeamish friends. That didn't actually happen until later.
He pushed me into a chair and quickly tied my ankles to the legs, preventing any of my kicks from making contact. I continued to struggle as he secured one of my arms to the slats in the back of the chair, and gasped when he cut his own arm, letting the blood drip a little before cutting my other one free.
"Heal it." I gave him my best "What the hell are you talking about" look, but he wasn't buying it. Dr. Harper slapped me hard across the cheek and went on, "Heal. It. I saw you do it." I growled and shook my head, wishing this stupid gag would come off so I could explain to him just how much I hoped that cut would give him tetanus. He responded by pressing the knife against my cheek, not even bothering to order me around anymore. And since I knew this would only get worse if he knew about the whole 'all wounds heal themselves' thing, I shakily lifted my free hand to the cut, withdrawing once it had disappeared completely.
He marveled at the spot where the wound used to be, and I quietly tried to untie my restricted hand. I didn't get far, though, and he grabbed my wrist and pressed it against the arm of the chair, slashing at my cheek anyway. I yelped and turned away, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping he wouldn't look, but it's not like I was having much luck that day anyway.
"What?" I stayed still, feeling the cut already starting to disappear. "What are you hiding?" He dropped the knife and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look his way just in time for the skin to finish sewing itself back together. His eyes widened even further and he ripped the tape off my mouth, eliciting a scream of pain. "How'd you do that?" I responded with a word that probably wouldn't have pleased my mother, which just resulted in another slap on my newly-healed cheek. "I asked you a question!"
"I-I don't know!" I answered, too panicked for my usual sass to do me much good. He glared for a moment before letting go, and I immediately tried to reach for the knife on the floor. He didn't seem to care as he went over to one of those animal fetus tables and prepared something I did NOT want to think about, so I went on like that for a few more seconds before realizing there was no way I'd reach it with my arm bound the way it was. I went back to trying to untie it, so focused that I didn't see Dr. Harper approach until he was right in front of me, soaked cloth in hand.
"N-No!" I shouted, eyes widening. "I'll do what ymmmph!" He didn't let me finish, and I tried to push against him and the chloroform with my free arm, but it wasn't any good, not when I was still tired from last time and only one limb was free.

Have you ever heard a sound and thought to yourself, "Man, I hope I don't ever wake up and hear THAT"? If not, that's fine. It's a niche thing. But let me go ahead and tell you this: you never, EVER want to wake up to the sound of a knife sharpening.
So, unsurprisingly, that was the first thing I heard upon regaining consciousness. I blinked several times and Dr. Harper came into focus back at the fetus table, multiple bottles and knives on either side of him. This woke me up pretty quickly, and upon frantically trying to get away, I found myself on some kind of lab table. My mouth was taped again, my wrists, ankles, and lower stomach were all strapped to it, and my shirt was gone, dotted incision lines burning against that same stupid flickering bulb.
I was right. He was going to dissect me like a frog in biology class, and he probably wasn't even going to put me back to sleep for it.
(Really, don't worry, that's a story for another day.)
Dr. Harper looked over his shoulder and grunted upon seeing that I was awake, struggling and whimpering against the restraints. He carefully picked out a scalpel and approached.
"I suppose you're one of those people born with powers, Dex," he told me, lightly dragging the knife across the dotted line. "Well, this is the most useful power I've ever heard of." His face shattered and morphed into the most terrifying, insane grin I'd seen up to that point, and I couldn't hold back a muffled scream. "You want to be a doctor, don't you? Think of all the people you'll save!" I squeezed my eyes shut and stopped squirming, not wanting this to hurt anymore than it had to. I felt the knife touch the lines again, then lift...
... then nothing.
My eyes popped open upon hearing Dr. Harper scream, and I was just in time to see him swipe at someone else, someone I'd never seen before. That person grunted in pain before punching him clean across the room, storming over to his unconscious body and stuffing it in a closet before leaning against a wall, grabbing his shoulder and wincing in pain.
But it wasn't a guy. She looked like an Amazon warrior from a conquistador's travel journal, tall, dark, and muscular, and was dressed like a Dungeons and Dragons character, and to be honest I felt like kissing her right then and there. But I wasn't gonna do that, of course, not now that I knew she could probably throw me over state lines. But there was something I could do.
"Mmm!" Oh, right, I was gagged. Fantastic. Her head shot up and she stumbled in my direction, still clutching the wound at her shoulder. She ripped the tape off, probably trying to be gentle, but it really just hurt as bad as the first time. "Untie me, I can help you."
"Can you?" she repeated, grinning. Nonetheless, she tapped at the belts securing me to the table, each one disintegrating at her touch. So she had powers, too. But that wasn't what I needed to be focusing on right now. I sat up and pressed my hands over the slash on her shoulder. She yelped at the touch and was probably about to lock me in the closet with Dr. Harper, but her eyes widened, just like his did, as the wound closed beneath my fingers. After I pulled my hands back in and sat cross-legged on the table, we both remained silent, astonished to have found another person with superpowers after undoubtedly feeling alone.
"Thanks," she finally said, touching the spot were the gash had been.
"No, thank you!" I replied, hopping off the table. "I... I don't know what he was going to do to me." That was a lie, and an obvious one as I tried to rub the incision lines off my stomach, but she didn't say anything. "I'm, uh... My friends call me Dex." We finally locked eyes, and she smiled.
"Valthura the Destroyer," she told me with a chuckle. "But my friends call me Val."