The Chameleon Loop

(put in a center line about what happenes to deceased hunters… Their bodies get donated to “science” ‘for the progress of mankind’. And the improvement of the Venatorus Gene Cluster.

Could be written as notes from an Pfizer-Apple-Alphabet meeting Alpha Apple Pfizer)

Vultures was an apt name for the bloodsuckers that came after Nox. While Dr. Hooker ignored him, four rangers watched him shower, then ‘escorted’ him to a testing and evaluation container of the hospital. From double wide squat racks, to stainless steel treadmills, to sensory deprivation tanks, the eval container had just about everything. There was even a table covered in various scalpels, blades, and shears, tools designed to test a hunter’s ability to heal or regenerate, complete with a nurse scrubbing away the blood stains.

“Alright, Mr. Nox V. Hawke, your blood tests show up as inconclusive, so we’ll start with a body composition analysis via the Bod-Pod.” Said Dr. Hooker, opening the door to the pressure vessel with “Air Displacement Plethysmography” engraved on the front.

It was white, and very egg-like in appearance with stainless steel handles and accents. Nox stepped into the pod, sitting down inside it while Dr. Hooker sealed it around him. The doctor pressed a series of buttons on the nearby computer and engines within the pod whirred into life, pressurizing the air. Vibrations penetrated the air, crawling over Nox’s skin as the pod weighed him. Then the pod began to vacuum out the air, stealing Nox’s breath. He frowned, and looked out the three inch thick viewport at Dr. Hooker. Upon seeing his reaction the doctor grabbed a microphone on a stick, one of the cheap ones that is little more than a flexible tube that you connected via USB.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, the POD operates by altering the air density, it sometimes has to vacuum out some air. Please ignore any lightheadedness, and close your eyes if you experience any discomfort.” Said the doctor.

Nox gave a thumbs up, despite wondering if the doctor had been the sort of kid who microwaved their pet hamsters. Words appeared in front of Nox’s eyes, different from the game-system-like notifications from the Persean Orb, these were translucent, yet harder. A single block of Times New Roman font that said

“Turn all Homo Sapiens into Homo Venatorus.”

He blinked, and the label vanished behind his eyelids. What kind of weird hallucination– Thought Nox. Vacuums disengaged, and a compressor pumped air into the pod at regular intervals, precisely adding air. It continued to cycle for a couple of minutes then a valve kicked open, Noxs ears popped and the POD’s door opened.

The label stuck to Dr. Hooker, vanishing as the POD’s door obscured him from view then reappearing as the door opened fully.

“Are you alright Mr. Hawke?” Asked Dr. Hooker, examining Nox’s face with twin orbs of curiosity.

“Uhm… Yeah… You should have warned me ahead of time doc. I thought you were trying to suffocate me.” Said Nox.

One hand rubbed his eyes, wishing the label would disappear. A wish that was granted when he reopened his eyes.

“I would never harm a patient! Well, not deliberately. You hunters are fascinating, ninety nine percent identical to humans –with complete genetic and genomic overlaps– but you can perform impossible accomplishments with the addition of a single wavelength of light. Absolutely magnificent. Anyways, here.” Said Dr. Hooker.

He passed a stainless steel cube to Nox, although cube wasn’t quite the right term, it was rectangular, about six inches tall, one inch wide and four inches deep.

“That dynamometer is hunter grade, I’ve only seen an S ranked brawler crack it. So don’t hold back, squeeze it as hard as humanly possible.” Directed the doctor.

One of the four rangers present cleared their throat at the mention of “humanly” and received a glare from Dr. Hooker. No matter what, sapiens would always be the same, so weak willed and scared that they needed to police your words. Just in case you said something to mangle their fragile egos. Nox ignored them and complied, squeezing the stainless steel brick with all the strength in his hand. The doctor tabbed over to another window on his computer, and saw a graph appear, despite being eight feet away, Nox could easily read the eight point font.

Pressure (PSI) was the vertical axis, while time (s) was the horizontal access. His line was growing, being graphed as he squeezed. Eager to see how much strength his new Homo Venatorus body could produce, Nox squeezed with all his might, attempting to crush the brick. He growled at it, panting heavily as he pushed his hand to the limit.

A minute later his muscles failed and the brick slid onto his lap. Yet Nox was hopeful of progress, since this was a test he knew. A strong human male in their peak would register one hundred and twenty PSI (pounds per square inch).

“How did I do?” Gasped Nox, clenching and unclenching his hand.

“You managed a very respectable two hundred and fifty PSI. Slightly above average for an E ranker. Try the other hand.”

His left hand managed a mere two hundred PSI, olympic level grip strength, and well below Nox’s worst nightmares. Three days of the black sweat and he was only an E ranker…

“Oh don’t make that face! I barely register on this chart. In fact, the strength you’ve gained over your gene therapy numbers are more than my entire score. Don’t frown because you aren’t super human enough young man!” Snapped Dr. Hooker.

“I just–” Began Nox, cutting himself off.

I just don’t want to get crushed by a minotaur. Is what he’d been about to say, only to realize the doctor wouldn’t understand, nor would he relate to Nox’s plight.

Another ranger cleared their throat, making Dr. Hooker wheel on them.

“If I hear another cough, so help me god!, I’m going to tell director Jefferson that you’ve all contracted some new dungeon parasite and require in depth physicals!” Snapped the doctor, resting his hand on an colonoscope.

Silence.

They worked their way through every machine in the lab, treadmills that came equipped with oxygen masks, a way to measure the performance of your lungs and the body’s overall ability to process oxygen. Squat racks where they added ten pounds on each side til Nox maxed out at 1274 pounds. A comparable weight to the Mini Cooper Mark I, or two tricked out Harley-Davidson motorcycles. Numbers that made Dr. Hooker smile, while they crushed Nox’s hopes and dreams. Sure, he was stronger, but he’d awakened from an E rank Therapy hunter to an E rank Blood hunter, it felt like zero actual progress. And it made his heart beat faster. A consequence of realizing the minotaur was still very much in the S ranked category.

The minotaur… How can we kill it a second time? We got lucky with the wyverns, and the ziggurat… Maybe we can split up the kill team, ambush the minotaur and then have one party teleport it to the ziggurat so we can ambush it again. Ugh, what happens if it ambushes us?

Pensive thoughts bounced around Nox’s mind as they continued the testing. What did the orb mean when it said [Persean core activate]--

A window appeared in Nox’s right eye, showing an interface straight from a mobile game. There was a red health bar at the top, though for some reason it was half empty. Below that was a blue mana bar which was almost entirely empty. And finally there was a yellow bar labeled stamina, which was steadily depleting as he jogged on the treadmill for the third interval of Dr. Hooker’s tests. Feet pounding away towards the end of his yellow brick road. But that wasn’t what caught his attention, the real star of the screen were the three line items listed under his name.

[lesser weaver soul][1]

[human soul][1][Nora]

[human soul][1][Jon]

[Feline Dopple][soul][1] [LOCKED]

[Minotaur][soul][1] [LOCKED]

[Human (host)][soul][1]

I absorbed Nora’s soul?... Thought Liam, wondering what the implications of such a union meant. Had he integrated some intrinsic part of her psyche? Or was the combination limited to her power or genes? If it were the later, then had she lost something? Would buying her sould be the same as eternal enslavement?

Still jogging, he tried to unlock the minotaur’s soul, and received an [insufficient mana] warning.

Figures, whatever power up that orb gave me is locked behind something. Just like that stupid sword. What even is a level? Life isn’t a game, you can’t express real world variables as a single boiled down number!

More out of annoyance than anything else, Nox tried to unlock the dopple’s soul. His mana bar drained completely, sending a wave of sudden exhaustion through his body. He stumbled on the treadmill, gasping as his spine shuddered, body changing. Not like puberty, but like a caterpillar undergoing metamorphosis. Everything wiggled slightly, causing Nox’s joints to temporarily forgot how to bend. Normally a minor, albeit unpleasant, experience. Yet, the transient loss of motor skills caused Nox to abruptly stop running. While the treadmill didn’t.

The rubber belt carried on its merry way, launching Nox’s foot backwards. Without his foot to support him, Nox face planted against the belt, remaining there until the rubber belt dutifully launched that too. Sending Nox into a smeared heap on the floor.

[DNA recognized, confirming default physique]

“What?” Gasped Dr. Hooker.

He’d been looking at the computer and hadn’t noticed any change until Nox shot off the treadmill.

“Good god man! Are you alright?” Said Dr. Hooker, approaching Nox only to stand back when he twitched. New hunters were like olympic toddlers, possessing great strength, and zero ability to manage it.

“Ouch.” Said Nox, slowly righting himself.

“Hey, are you alright? What happened? You were barely warming up during that interval.” Dr. Hooker asked.

Nox pulled out the airtube, tape tugging painfully against his stubble. “I feel a bit off, must have tripped.” Said Nox.

He struggled to his feet, leaning on a nearby piece of equipment to steady himself. Which is how he noticed the claws protruding out of his knuckles. Black and three inches long, his fingers had become hard talons. He blinked, and drummed his fingers against the equipment, talons leaving gashes in the stainless steel weight rack.

“What was that?” Asked Hooker, curious about the odd noise.

Nox flexed his hand, wishing it would return to normal. To his shock, the talons wiggled into pink fleshy fingers, returning to humanity’s default form. His red health bar decreased, and somehow he understood that the transformation could exchange vitality if he ran dry on mana. A blood price, for shapeshifting. He blinked. Then strode across the room to the weight rack, careful to keep his back towards Hooker and the four rangers.

OH BABY! Shapeshifting? And claws? Fuuuuuccckkkkk yyyeaaahhhh! Wait, what else changed? Please be human, I don’t want any invasive tests. Oh man, a colonoscopy would be the least of my concerns if they find out I can shapeshift! Prayed Nox, examining himself in the mirror.

No traces of anything other than a man in his early twenties stared back at Nox. Both hands were normal, and his teeth were still humanoid, though his tongue felt like it had been stabbed by much harsher canines. He risked a smile, immediately shutting his mouth to conceal the quadruple rows of fangs. One hand covered his mouth, and he mmed, feigning pain to give him an opportunity to retract the fangs. They swam into his gums, as compliant as a lightswitch.

“Nox Hawke, answer me! Are. You. O. K.?” Called a soldier, enunciating each word.

He had been standing outside the pod, but upon hearing a treadmill crash the ranger entered the lab. Rifle held at the low ready. Another of the odd labels appeared above the soldier.

[Become a billionaire by selling cupcakes, then retire to be a professional stay at home dad.]

What the hell are these labels? Thought Nox.

“Uh, I tripped. And tasted iron, must have hit my mouth on some weights…” Said Nox, still gasping for air from his jog. “Can I uhm, take a break? I’m feeling kinda weird…”

To sell the half truth, Nox clutched his stomach, feigning bowel issues. A ploy that worked spectacularly on the good doctor.

“Ugh a piss break? Wait… your black day was yesterday…” He muttered, eyes going wide. “Yes yes, go! Don’t make a mess in my laboratory!” He said, this time loud enough for the rangers to understand.

The sound of a safety being clicked-on seemed to echo through Nox’s ears, and he spared a glance towards the ranger’s rifle. Sure enough the ambidextrous safety selector was pointing at “Safe”. Though how he could distinguish between the different positions by sound confused him even more. Today was getting skin-crawlingly weird. He would have to figure that out later, but for now– Nox latched port-a-potty shut.

On base the temporary shitter was the only room a hunter could truly isolate themselves in. Though there were at least a dozen cameras watching them come and go. To keep them ‘safe’. Although why hunters needed protection while they defecated was not a question Nox cared to ask. What he did care about, was the blue mana bar, which was regenerating at the pace of a racing turtle. Now that he had time to examine the bars, each of them had two numbers separated by a slash. His red HP bar was in percentage points, currently reading 40% / 100% and +1% / hour. One percent per hour? Crap, I'll never recover from anything!

The mana and stamina bars were similar, though they boasted +10% / hour and +100% / hour respectively. Enthralled by the odd system he spent an hour watching the bars creep higher, then tried to alter just his left hand with the dopple soul. Since it now read [Feline Dopple][soul][1] without the [LOCKED]. It activated seamlessly, altering his hand into an odd hybridized paw. Similar to a cat’s but unable to retract the claws, instead his palm thickened, bones somehow reinforcing themselves, turning bludgeoning fists into slashing talons. He continued to practice with the claws, burning through his mana and eating into his HP bar to practice, constantly shifting minor appendages until someone knocked on the door.

Nox nearly lept out of his skin, looking at the mirror to see he still had one cat eye and a single cat ear sticking out of his skull.

“Nox Hawke, are you in there?” Called the ranger from Dr. Hooker’s lab.

“Uh… Yeah, sorry. Are you guys still waiting for me? I’m really not feeling like myself…” Said Nox.

“Doc just wanted to make sure you hadn’t shit yourself to death. Otherwise he asked me to take a sample. So stay alive.” Ordered the ranger, making it clear what kind of ‘samples’ he didn’t want to deal with. “Since you’re fine doc said the other tests can wait til after your gate. On one condition.” Said the Ranger.

“How thoughtful. What’s the condition?” Asked Nox, hoping it wasn’t the afor-unmentioned stool samples.

“You wear an observation helmet. Got it?” Asked the soldier, without really asking.

They both knew the condition wasn’t optional, raid with the twenty pound helmet, or enjoy the stockade and maybe some more intrusive biopsies.

“Sure thing boss. I’ll bring back all the gopro footage the doc could ever dream of.” Said Nox, earning a snort from the ranger.