Lauren awoke with every
part of her body aching. It was hard enough to sit up and open her eyes. She
was still in the cavernous prison – no surprise there. Across from her was
Fawn, fearfully cowering in the corner.
Concerned for her Barasinghan cellmate, she asked, “How long was I…?”
She stopped talking once
she noticed a difference in her voice.
It sounded more British than ever before, slightly
older and a little deeper.
“O.K. That’s weird.” Even
her teeth felt different as she spoke. “Fawn, what happened? How long have I
been out?”
The young Barasinghan
trembled just looking at her. “Two days.”
“Dear lord,” Lauren
gasped.
She fought to stand up,
clinging against the rock wall for support.
Her legs, for as much
feeling as she still had in them, seemed longer.
The sports bra and yoga
pants were snug on her frame, as if neither were her right size anymore.
“Everything
feels…different,” she reflected.
“You look different,” Fawn told her.
That quickly became
obvious to Lauren once her hair dangled in her field of view; it was brown, not
blond. This prompted her to seek out her reflection. The best place she could
find it was in Fawn’s bucket, which was full enough to offer the closest thing
to a mirror. Through the ripples, a whole new woman was looking back at her: a
brunette with hazel eyes.
From the great distance
between her face and the bucket, it was evident that she had regenerated into a
tall woman. Her new body was as
athletic as her previous one, if not more superior; she had to make some slight
alterations to her yoga pants, which were suited for her much shorter
predecessor.
It was clear now why Fawn
reacted the way she did; only very few living souls like her had the privilege
of witnessing a full Time Lord regeneration up close.
“It’s alright,
sweetheart,” she told her. “I’m still the same woman.”
Fawn remained uncertain,
recoiling the closer Lauren got to her. “I…I’ve never seen anything like it.
D-Do I still even call you ‘Lauren’?”
Aznavorian once more
glimpsed at her new face.
New face, new name.
That was the one rule she
and Neas always followed after regeneration. Not like the Doctor, who kept the
same name with every new face, unless he was incognito under the alias of “John
Smith.”
“Suzanne,” the Tinkerer
settled. “Call me ‘Suzanne’.”
“You actually name
your regenerations?”
Fawn and Suzanne jolted from the Scottish-accented voice
that spoke out arbitrarily outside their cell. There appeared a woman with
pronounced cheekbones, intense light blue eyes, and black hair held in place in
an up-do. She wore a Victorian-styled garb complete with a high-waisted skirt
that cut to ankle length and a croak lengthen jacket that puffed up at the
shoulders.
“My, my, Tinkerer,” she mockingly addressed Suzanne.
“You’ve certainly sprouted in this
new body of yours. Better duck whenever you go through doorways now. We
wouldn’t want that pretty head cut off now, would we?”
“Who are you?”
Suzanne asked.
“Well, that’s the question
of the hour, isn’t it? Who am I?” the
Scotswoman said. “Who I am is the one who stepped up to be a parent to a sad
little boy whose mommy and daddy were too ashamed of what he was born as. I was
more of a father to him than you ever
were, Aznavorian.”
Suzanne grew cold,
recognizing this woman for who she really was. “Master?”
“It’s ‘Missy’ now, short
for ‘Mistress’,” she said. “And you’re welcome, by the way, for raising your
son.”
“You stole Christopher from Kristin and me,” Suzanne growled.
“That’s not the way she sees it now, darling,” Missy argued. “Speaking off-topic, how
does it feel having that Regen-8 formula coursing through your veins?”
Suzanne looked to her left forearm, a sharp tingling
sensation overcoming it.
Her veins faintly glowed beneath the skin, a telltale
symptom of Regen-8.
“I’d suggest you enjoy the new body while you can,” Missy
advised. “‘Cause as of right now you are on borrowed time, dearie.”
She ended the exchange at that,
leaving Suzanne mortified.
----------------
Themyscira was a better place
than any for LeMarier and Missy to establish as an “evil hangout” (as Missy
preferred to call it). A magical island on an Earth they had yet to imagine was
like elsewhere, created by Zeus to serve as a home for a race of powerful women
called “Amazons” and concealed from the outside world by an invisible force
field.
Each and every one was
brainwashed to do as the Time Ladies commanded while they conducted their
research and experimentation of the Regen-8 formula. LeMarier set up her
laboratory within a sacred tower, an area once reserved only for displaying a
magically-empowered Amazonian sword called “God Killer.”
It still resided there
beside LeMarier’s T.A.R.D.I.S. – a towering stone structure with a noticeable fracture
in one edge; it was not unlike that of her twin sibling’s but more
dimensionally unbalanced on its exterior.
The arrival of Missy came
at a time when LeMarier was focused on her work, with her companion, Draco
Malfoy, keeping her company.
“A rather problematic development has occurred in
your father’s regeneration from the formula,” Missy updated her. “Apparently,
it’s gifted her with a body that’s as tall and fit as the Amazons we’re
surrounded by here.”
“We got nothing to worry
about,” LeMarier stated. “If she tries to escape, the Regen-8 will kick her
butt before the Amazons could lay a finger on her.” Frustration soon overtook
her, slamming her fists down on the workbench and rattling a few beakers and
test tubes. “Years of work, and I still
haven’t perfected it!”
“I have.”
Missy’s negligible remark
drew great annoyance from LeMarier, turning to her surrogate father (now
mother) with fire in her cold blue eyes. “Since when?!” she asked against gnashed teeth.
“Since a week ago,” Missy
answered in that same passive voice while checking on her up-do in her compact
mirror.
“And you’ve just now decided to tell me?!”
“Well, I was gonna keep it a surprise ‘til your
next birthday.”
Displeased and infuriated,
LeMarier demanded, “Give me the recipe!”
“Of course, dear. Lemme just…”
Missy reached into a purse
LeMarier never knew she had to retrieve the formula; but, with a quick sleight
of hand, she yanked out a small syringe and jabbed the needle into the left
side of LeMarier’s neck.
The surprise injection
caught her off guard, her legs instantly giving out.
Catching on the scene,
Draco disconcertedly watched, uncertain of whose side he should’ve been on:
LeMarier’s or Missy’s.
“What the…?” LeMarier
huffed. “What did you pump me with?”
“An amplified dosage of
the Regen-8 formula,” Missy exposed. “Not like the concentrated dose that I
gave your twin on my short field trip earlier. I still need him to stay as he is for the next phase
of my plan. You, on the other hand, could use a makeover…into a more obedient regeneration.”
LeMarier struggled to
focus on what Missy was telling her.
“P-Plan? What plan?!”
“I’m sorry, my dear.
Really, I am. But, since the Gladiator’s mini-me got involved, someone much bigger than either of us is calling
the shots now.”
A tingling sensation overcame
LeMarier’s left arm.
She held it in front of
her face to see it glowing with regenerative energy.
Soon, her whole body was
overtaken by it, paralyzed as she underwent her metamorphosis into her next
incarnation.
Missy and Draco observed
as her distinct features melted away.
Her dark brown hair turned
golden blonde, her slightly pale complexion gained a bit more color, her clear
hazel eyes were replaced with a bluish hue, and her slender figure became more
athletic; all that remained was her peach lips and tall stature, both of which
were slightly more pronounced in the new form.
She stood upright, her new
face locked in a muted expression that managed to be far more intimidating and
sophisticated than her predecessor.
Missy approached her cautiously.
“Chris? How do you feel, sweetheart?”
The new incarnation of
Christopher, barely acknowledging the existence of Missy or even Draco Malfoy,
submissively replied in her new profound voice, “Ready to follow your command, Master.”
