Amy moved through the thick undergrowth, his — her — feet pressing down into the damp earth as he stalked through the jungle. The spear in his hand felt light, perfectly balanced, molded from the very wood of the trees around him. His steps were soundless despite his size, the muscles in his legs flexing effortlessly as he moved past the twisting vines and gnarled roots of the jungle floor. Sunlight streamed down through the canopy, cutting through the muggy air and highlighting the sheen of sweat on his chiseled skin.
His body — tall, muscular, sharp in all the right places — was the result of careful adjustment. Amy had crafted it meticulously after waking up half-dead on the beach. At first, she'd simply healed herself, coaxing her own cells back to life, regrowing damaged tissue, and forcing her battered muscles back into working order. But once the hunger had set in — and the reality of her situation — she knew she had to do more.
She couldn't afford to stay weak. Not here. Not in a world like this.
That first day had been hell. Waking up naked, burned, and disoriented was bad enough. But the onslaught of information from her power had nearly driven her insane.
Amy had always known her power was a curse as much as it was a gift. Being able to manipulate biology at a cellular level meant being aware of it constantly. Every microorganism on her skin, every bacterium writhing and reproducing in the hidden crevices of her body, she had felt it all. Every moment of her life had been nothing but an assualt on her mind by those vile information, which she could never shut off. It was constant, unrelenting. Even in Brockton Bay, even when she was surrounded by most sterile environments, it was maddening.
Here? Here it was so much worse.
The island was alive. The moment her bare skin had touched the sand, she had been flooded with sensations. The grains beneath her fingers were alive with microscopic organisms, wriggling and thriving. The air was filled with spores and pollen. The jungle pulsed with life — bacteria, mold, parasites — all screaming for her attention. The overwhelming flood of biological information had left her curled up and shaking on the beach, her hands pressed to her head as she tried to drown it out.
And then it got worse.
Because it wasn't just the living things anymore.
Amy stepped over a fallen branch, his fingers tightening around the spear as his jaw clenched. His eyes — a deep, sharp brown — scanned the undergrowth. His muscles were tense, his body thrumming with a strength he still wasn't used to.
When the power had shifted — when whatever the hell happened to her expanded her ability — it wasn't just biology anymore. The moment his hand had brushed against a smooth rock on the beach, a new layer of understanding had erupted in his mind.
Atoms. Molecules. Subatomic particles.
The structure of the rock had laid itself bare to her in a complex 5d map. She could see the silicon and oxygen bonds that held the rock together, the vibrations of the electrons orbiting their nucleus, the lattice of molecular forces binding the whole thing in place. It was as clear as looking at a strand of muscle or a cluster of bacteria.
At first, she had thought it was just understanding. But then, without even thinking, she had reached out, and the rock had shifted beneath her hand.
It had dissolved into fine sand, rearranging itself at her command.
Amy's brow furrowed as he crossed the jungle, the memory burning hot in his mind. It was more than biology now. She could manipulate matter. Non-living matter. Reshape it, rebuild it — change its structure down to the atomic level.
She had spent the first day half-mad with hunger and confusion, barely able to think through the noise of her power. It was like standing in the middle of a crowded room with everyone shouting in her ear at once, except instead of voices, it was the constant hum of cellular activity and molecular vibration. She had nearly gone mad.
But once she'd realized what she could do… she'd forced herself to focus. To focus through the relentless assault on her mind and psyche.
Amy had dug her hands into the sand, ignoring the crawling sensation of the organisms beneath her fingers, and focused. She'd forced herself to manipulate the surrounding plant life, drawing nutrients from the soil, twisting roots into tubers, pulling water into the plants until they swelled with moisture.
It had worked. She'd eaten. Restored her energy. And then she'd gone to work on herself.
Amy glanced down at his body. His muscles rippled beneath tanned skin as he adjusted the spear in his hand. The body was… perfect. A six-foot frame, lean and powerful, broad across the chest with narrow hips and powerful legs. His arms were roped with muscle, his torso lined with hard muscle and tight skin. He had molded the body exactly how he needed it — stronger, faster, more resilient.
And male.
Amy's lips curled slightly as he stepped over a fallen tree. That had been a strategic decision. If she was stuck here — wherever 'here' was — then being a naked woman meant being vulnerable. Especially in a world that already seemed dangerous. Strength mattered, and appearances mattered more. It was a lesson, she had learnt very well in New Wave. She wasn't a fighter. Her speciality had been healing since the beginning. She couldn't blast lasers out of her hand, or possessed super strength enough to bully her attackers. She was a wimp with the ability to alter the biology.
So she had built herself a body that could survive. Being a man would allow her to be better suited with any attackers. Amy believed in women rights, but she was no fool to believe that a women was physically as strong as men. As a healer, she perfectly knew how male body differed from women body. Males were just built faster. She had decided to build her body like that too. Changed the circulatory and other organ systems the same way that of a man. Atleast, this way, she would have a greater strength than her frail body. Not to mention, she had made the muscles and bones more denser for enhanced strength. Enough for low level threats like an angry normal human.
Not that it solved her other problems.
Amy's head throbbed as he brushed past a thick curtain of vines. His mind was still crowded with too much noise — the hum of the jungle around him, the structure of the spear in his hand, the shifting bonds of the soil at sub subatomic levels beneath his feet. Every step was accompanied by a flood of information — the chemical composition of the plants, the cellular structure of the insects nearby, the atomic bonds of the very air molecules brushing against his skin.
It was enough to make him want to scream.
Amy took a steadying breath and forced himself to calm down. He had always been good at compartmentalizing. That was the only reason he wasn't already catatonic.
The key was focus. He could tune out the noise when he concentrated — he just had to control it.
Amy pushed through the dense undergrowth, his breath coming fast and heavy as he stepped into the clearing. Her feet crunched over broken stone and moss-covered debris as he slowed to a stop, his spear resting loosely in his hand. The muscles in his bare chest rose and fell with each breath as he scanned the area.
The clearing was empty — unsettlingly so.
Ruined buildings loomed around the edges of the open space, their jagged walls half-swallowed by creeping vines and clusters of dark green moss. Algae clung to the cracked stones, glistening under the faint sunlight that filtered through the thinning canopy. A stagnant, briny smell filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of decaying wood and wet stone.
Amy frowned. His gaze drifted over the broken structures. The moss and algae — that was odd. It wasn't just that they were growing there — it was how much had already accumulated. Thick layers of growth wrapped around the crumbling walls and sagging roofs, as if the ruins had been abandoned for decades. But that couldn't be right.
It felt wrong — unnatural.
Amy tightened his grip on the spear and stepped toward one of the buildings. The doorway was partially caved in, a jagged stone archway barely holding itself together. He brushed his hand against the stone as he passed, and the sensation hit him immediately — the hum of the molecular structure beneath his fingertips, the ancient lattice of carbon and calcium slowly breaking down under the relentless advance of the moss.
Amy shook his head, pushing the sensations aside. He ducked under the low archway and stepped inside.
The air was thick and stale. The room was dark except for thin beams of light filtering through the cracks in the walls. Dust and algae coated the floor, and strange insects — ones Amy didn't recognize — skittered across the stone.
Then she saw them.
Bones.
Amy's breath hitched as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Scattered across the floor were human remains — skeletons curled in on themselves, some clutching each other, others lying alone. There were at least four of them in this room alone. Their bones were bleached and brittle, laced with creeping veins of moss that wrapped around ribcages and hollowed-out skulls.
A chill crawled down Amy's spine.
He crouched down, his fingers brushing against the nearest skeleton. A ripple of information poured into his mind — the decayed structure of the bones, the cellular breakdown, the remains of old trauma in the cracks and fissures of the bone itself.
From the damage, some had died violently. Blunt trauma, broken ribs, shattered skulls. Others… from exposure, dehydration.
Amy pulled his hand away sharply, his chest tightening.
What the hell had happened here?
She stood and backed away toward the door. The insects in the room were starting to stir, their dark carapaces glinting under the thin shafts of light. Amy's body was already secreting subtle pheromones — a low-level signal that kept them from swarming him. He wasn't sure when he'd started doing that. The ability had just happened — part of the long list of disturbing new tricks her power had dumped on her after the double-trigger.
But it worked. The insects stayed away.
Amy turned and stepped out of the house, his bare feet pressing into the mossy stone. His jaw clenched as he rubbed a hand over his face.
It's fine, she told himself. You're not losing it. You've seen worse.
That was a lie. She'd never seen this.
He was about to head toward the next building when the ground trembled beneath his feet.
Amy froze.
A low, groaning sound filled the air — deep and vast, like the earth itself was straining. Her eyes widened as the ground shuddered violently beneath him, nearly knocking him off balance.
A second tremor hit — stronger this time.
Amy stumbled toward one of the buildings, gripping the cracked stone wall to steady himself. Dust and bits of debris rained down as the stones groaned beneath his hands.
What the hell—
The ground jolted hard enough to send him sprawling to one knee. His spear clattered to the ground beside him. Amy's breath hitched as the trembling grew louder — deeper — vibrating through the very bones of the island.
And then the ground began to tilt.
Amy's heart pounded as the realization hit him.
The island was sinking. The earthquake was the island sinking down.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me—"
The earth tilted again, sharper this time. Amy scrambled to his feet, grabbing his spear as he stumbled toward the open clearing. His legs burned as he forced himself forward, running toward higher ground.
Behind him, the ruined buildings began to collapse, dust and stone tumbling into the rising tide as the ocean surged toward the clearing. Water began to bubble up through the cracks in the stone, dark rivulets racing across the mossy ground.
Amy's breath was ragged as he sprinted toward the open beach. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. It's fine, it's fine—
It wasn't fine.
Fuck, Amy thought suddenly. I need to get out of here!
Panic clawed at his throat. For a brief, irrational moment, she wished desperately that she could fly. That he could lift himself into the air and escape the sinking island altogether.
But she couldn't. All this power, all this insane new potential — and she still couldn't fucking fly.
The first wave of seawater surged toward him, ice cold against his bare feet. Amy cursed and stumbled back. Her mind raced.
I need to breathe underwater.
The thought struck him hard and fast. His power surged in response.
Amy squeezed his eyes shut and pushed. His awareness shot inward, mapping his own biology. He focused on his lungs — on the shape of his bronchial tubes, on the structure of his blood vessels. His mind reached toward the image of a fish — gills, webbed fingers and toes, streamlined muscle.
The changes hit almost instantly.
Amy gasped as his chest constricted. His lungs burned as his alveoli reshaped themselves, splitting and folding inward. His skin prickled as thin slits formed on the sides of his neck — gills. The muscles in his hands and feet stretched and reformed, webbing between his fingers and toes.
The transformation was painful — brief, but painful. Amy doubled over, clutching his sides as his body settled into its new shape. She mentally reminded herself to alter her nerves so that she won't pain like that the next time.
A moment later, he drew a sharp breath — and felt the oxygen filtering through the new gill structures in his neck. His heart slowed. His pulse steadied.
The next wave surged toward him.
Amy didn't hesitate. He threw the spear over his shoulder and dove into the water. The icy cold enveloped him instantly, but his body adjusted with frightening ease. His webbed hands cut through the water as his powerful legs propelled him forward.
Amy swam. Fast. Strong. Her body moved as though it had always been made for the water.
She breached the surface and took a gasping breath, his gills fluttering in sync with his lungs. For the first time in days, he felt… calm. It felt strangely odd. Dipping in the water and swimming for her life. Strangely, it felt much better and mentally relaxing than the hours of saving the lives of others.
And then the weight of reality hit him.
Victoria. Carol. Mark. New Wave.
They were not here. She needed to reach the nearby landmass and get to contact them. Vicky would be terrified and angry with worry. Amy knew that her sister would really be missing her right now. She needed to get in contact with Vicky. She needed to be back in Brockton Bay.
Amy's expression darkened. His jaw tightened. His heart hammered wildly beneath his chest.
Alone or not, she wasn't going to die here.
Amy took another breath and dove back beneath the surface. The ocean swallowed him whole as he swam toward the unknown.