The mirror only reflects what’s put in front of it. Chris stared at the other version of himself with little emotion. His eyes roved over his chiseled chest, his defined abs. He curled his arms, noting the play of the muscles beneath the skin. He turned at an angle and flexed, the muscles bulging. He let his arms fall to his sides again and sighed, letting himself slowly lean forward until he was leaning on the sink, eyes closed.

 

A creak brought him upright quickly. The floor and sink both had groaned and he sighed again, making himself relax. He had to be careful. Sometimes—not often, but sometimes still—he forgot he could do that. A focus of thought, a presence of will, and suddenly he weighed a ton. Literally. Give or take, anyway. He couldn’t do it in the home; the floors weren’t sturdy enough (as the repaired hardwood in the bedroom and hallways would attest). But he’d tested as best as he could with a shipping scale. Over a ton, he was sure, but just how much…

 

He reached out and turned on the faucet, his movements oddly controlled. He’d become like that since…well, since he’d begun changing. He splashed his face with cold water and remembered what it was like to weigh more than a car. It felt…powerful. It was like he was amped on RedBull and coffee and speed and whatever else. He wasn’t faster, but he simply gained power. And size. Always relatively slender, over the past few months he’d gained a little weight, but more noticeably his physique had filled out. He looked like he worked out every day now—which is what he told people, though he had neither a home gym or a membership anywhere. He was defined as well as any professional athlete, and better than some. When he let the power in, he simply…expanded. It made him look a little like one of those comic book characters. A caricature, really, all muscle. It made him look a little….inhuman. Thick, out of proportion, but still powerful.

 

He turned off the water and straightened, rivulets running down his face, chest and stomach unattended.

 

And then there was the other thing.

 

He took several deep breaths and focused his will again. In the mirror his form suddenly blurred. He looked…hazy. Almost like a ghost would. Or should, if he believed in ghosts. He felt light, like it might if he was walking in space. He waved his hand and it went through the sink, through the wall, through him. It made him chuckle and shiver at the same time. It was strange, that was certain.

 

He gave a little hop and suddenly he was floating. He knew from trial-and-error that he could float up, then direct his descent back to the earth. He also knew that he had to be careful or he’d slip through the ground and have to float back up again.

 

With a conscious thought he allowed his mass to come slowly back, then stopped. Now it seemed he had a more solid core, but the edges were blurry. He reached out and tapped the mirror, the tip of his finger just disappearing inside before he made contact.

 

With another heavy sigh he let his body return to normal. He found it funny that coming back from being super heavy always made him feel light, and coming back from being virtually untouchable always made him feel heavy.

 

He splashed more water on his face and shook his head.

 

He’d heard some reports of things happening to people. Every time a new incident occurred the news hammered on it for days. He didn’t want to be like that. He just wanted to be normal.

 

From the other room he heard his cell phone chirp. He grabbed a towel and wiped his face, chest and hands, tossing to the towel to the side as he went into the den of his apartment. One text message from his buddy reminding him of happy hour at the local sports bar. He glanced at the clock—just shy of 5pm.

 

He sighed and went back to the bedroom to get dressed. He might not be normal, but he could certainly try to act it. He was just pulling his left shoe snugly into place when the doorbell rang.

Chris managed to sigh and smirk at the same time as he finished tying his shoe. Probably Mike, or maybe Jill. Texting him from just outside the door was the kind of thing they'd do. Running a hand across his still-damp hair Chris moved to the front door.

He opened the door without glancing through the peephole, expecting to see his friends.

A slender, blue and white robot regarded him out of glowing amber optics. It looked like a kid in some kind of outlandish costume, but that couldn't be right because it was pipe cleaner thin - there'd be nowhere to put a person. Its torso was was a light pastel blue, with three small glowing hexagonal lights in the upper left, near the shoulder. The limbs were white, articulated, ceramic-looking. The hands were blue, as were the feet, though the fingers and the two large front 'toes' and one back 'toe' where white. The little 'bots legs bent backwards at the knees, like a birds. It looked delicate, almost as though a strong wind could blow it away. 

It emitted a soft electronic sound, almost like the sound of a stone plunking into water. "INFORMATION: You are Christopher Teague stroke Enigma, TI8859714. Is this correct?" It's voice was formal and polite, but firm. Behind it, a butterfly fluttered about its head.

Chris stared at the robot for a long while before poking his head out and glancing up and down the street. Nobody. He went back to staring at the robot for a moment longer.

"Um...yeah," he said finally. "I'm Chris Teague." He reached out, stopped just shy of touching the robot. "And you are...?"

In response, the slender metal mans eyes glowed a baleful amber, and a paper thin beam of orange-ish light swept out from them and flickered over Chris from head to toe before winking out. "Identity confirmed," the robot said. "Hello Christopher Teague. I am Zen."

Chris nodded dumbly. "Of course you are." He looked around again, hoping to find someone or something that would tell him this was all some kind of a joke. He offered a half-hearted smile to the robot. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"That would depend upon the point of view and definition of humor of the observer," Zen replied briskly. A small panel opened on its reedy chest, just below the octagonal lights. The little robot removed a slender, black and white bracelet from the cavity, and the chest sealed again. "INFORMATION: please apply the teleportation device to your wrist." Zen held the slender bangle out to Chris. The butterfly, not seeing anything savory around the robots head, moved off to greener, and more floral, pastures.

Chris' eyes followed the butterfly for a moment before coming back to rest on the profferred bracelet. "Um, teleportation device." He nodded, then smiled openly. "Right. Now I know this is a joke. Good one. I know I'm always late but this is ridiculous." He chuckled and took the bracelet, examining it in his hands. "A watch would've been funny, but this is even better."

It was cool to the touch. Black and white, and definitely what anyone would call 'modern' or 'futuristic' looking. maybe a quarter of an inch thick, with black and white traceries resembling circuit paths more than anything else. "INFORMATION: please apply the teleportation bracelet to your wrist, Christopher Teague stroke Enigma." said Zen primly.

"Right." Still smiling, Chris put the bracelet on and held it up for the robot to 'see'. "It's on. You got me. Whoever's running this gag can come out now." His eyes darted around, looking for the imminent 'gotcha!' faces as friends sprang from bushes or behind cars. "Chris-stroke-enigma fell for it. You got me."

"Confirmed," said Zen, and Chris would have sworn there was a hint of smugness in the formal, European tone.

"Hey," Chris said, looking at his wrist with something akin to concern. "What the hell...?"

The device had clicked firmly shut, then flashed a light-blue color, then rippled, vanishing from sight.Chris could still feel it on his wrist, he just couldn't see it any longer. "INFORMATION," intoned Zen. "Prepare for teleport."

"Wait...what?" Chris rubbed at his wrist, frowning. "I love a good joke as much as the next guy but seriously..."

There was a peculiar vibratory sensation, an immense feeling of all-over coldness, like being suddenly immersed in an arctic night. "Teleport," he heard Zen intone from some far off-place, and the world around him shattered, bright white light pouring from everywhere and nowhere, spinning him away like a leaf on some mighty solar wind...

to be continued in Issue 1