Infamous Shifter’s Genesis

At the receptionist’s desk, Trish went through the motions of signing paperwork and arranging payment, her mind detached from the process. She handed over the necessary documents and made the payment without a second thought, her focus entirely on what lay ahead. The receptionist, oblivious to Trish’s inner turmoil, completed the transaction with a polite smile, assuring her that the body would be delivered to the mortician as requested.

Once everything was in order, Trish left the hospital, her heart eerily still as she made her way to the mortician’s building. The streets of Empire City were desolate, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an uneasy silence.

The mortician’s building loomed ahead, a somewhat dilapidated structure that had seen better days. It was a grim place, but it offered the one thing Trish needed most right now—privacy. The owner, a man named Gerald, was a frequent visitor to her clinic after the Blast. An elderly man always by himself must have screamed ‘attack me’ to his muggers as he was frequently attacked for money. He was reclusive, with few friends or family, and his business had always operated on the fringes of society. But now, that isolation worked in her favor.

Trish pushed open the door and stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of formaldehyde and decay. Trish flipped the switch and then the interior was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single light bulb casting eerie shadows across the room. Gerald was not here—he was still recovering at her clinic, his injuries severe enough to keep him bedridden for some time. That meant the place was empty, and Trish would have the privacy she needed.

She moved quickly, preparing the space for what she was about to do. She cleared a table in the back room, pushing aside tools and equipment to make room for Amy’s body. Her hands shook as she worked, the reality of what she was about to do weighing heavily on her mind. This would be the first time she would attempt such a thing.

A knock at the door nearly startled her, and Trish took a deep breath before answering. The delivery was quick and efficient—the mortuary assistants, unaware of her identity, thinking she worked there, brought the covered body inside and left without a word. They had no reason to suspect anything unusual, and for that, Trish was grateful.

Once the door was closed and she was alone again, Trish locked it, securing the bolt. She turned to face the covered body on the table. The room was deathly quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the building’s outdated electrical system.

As Trish reached out to pull back the sheet she saw it yet again Amy’s face, charred and battered. Such a sight greeted her, a harsh reminder of the cruel world Kessler had created because of losing her. Trish’s eyes welled with tears, this surprised her as she was unaware she could still cry. She however forced them back, steeling herself for what needed to be done.

When she became this thing she saw Damian’s memories. In it she saw much including that absorbing a body, absorbing Amy, would integrate her into the collective that Damian had become. Many sane and rational people would see this as a dark, twisted option, but it was the only way to keep her sister with her. In this world where nothing was certain, this was the only way Trish could protect the memory of the person she had loved most.

She leaned over Amy’s body, her hands hovering just above the burned flesh. The power within her stirred, a dark, consuming force that had lain dormant since she had been touched by Damian. It was a part of him, this power—a part that he had knowingly passed on to her when they had shared that brief, yet meaningful connection.

Trish closed her eyes, focusing on the hand as it drew closer to Amy. She could feel it pulsing, a dark rhythm that matched the beat of her heart. Slowly, she allowed it to flow through her hands, a tingling sensation that spread across her skin as she lowered her palms to touch Amy’s lifeless form.

The process began slowly at first, her hand twisting and reshaping into black and red biomass. Trish’s fingers sank into the flesh, the biomass within her drew Amy’s essence into her own body. It was a strange sensation, as if she were absorbing not just the physical remains, but the very spirit or soul of her sister.

As the process continued, Trish felt a rush of memories, emotions, and sensations flooding her mind. Amy’s life flashed before her eyes—every joy, every sorrow, every moment they had shared together. It was overwhelming, the sheer intensity of it threatening to tear her apart.

But Trish held on, refusing to let go. She absorbed it all, taking every piece of Amy into herself, merging their souls into one. Now she felt everything about Amy including her last moments which were filled with excruciating pain, but she endured it, driven by a love that transcended death itself.

When it was over, Trish stood alone in the dimly lit room, her body trembling with exhaustion. Amy was gone, her physical form consumed entirely, leaving no trace behind. But Trish could feel her presence within, a comforting warmth that filled the empty spaces in her heart.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her mind reeling from the experience. The room felt colder now, the silence heavier, but Trish felt a strange sense of peace. Amy was with her now, a part of her, it was a great comfort.

With a heavy heart, Trish began to clean up the room, erasing any evidence of what had transpired. She had to be careful now—no one could know what she had done, not even Cole. This was her burden to bear, a secret she must keep for now.

She left the mortician’s building, slipping back into the shadows of Empire City. She had been away too long and Cole or Zeke would start calling her soon if they didn’t hear from her. Taking out her phone she looked at her message and laughed. A laugh that didn’t originate from her but rather from a part of her that held Amy as she would always make fun of Trish and Cole’s mussy relationship.

“Still so mussy eh Trish,” said Trish in a voice not her own.

“Mind your own business,” said Trish as she sent a message, put the phone away, and resumed her walk back to the clinic.