Work Text:
Henry held aloft the phial in triumph. “Finally!” he exclaimed, far louder than he usually would have had he gotten any amount of sleep in the last three days. But he was far too busy staring at the watery green contents of the phial to consider that it was three a.m. and he hadn’t gotten any sleep since Lisa left on her trip.
This was it, the moment he’d been waiting for. One sip of this formula, and his goal for the last seven years would be within his grasp.
Notes, he should take notes. Henry rummaged through his desk drawers, trying to locate his notebook. After far more searching than should have been necessary – oh well, he’ll tidy up later – he finally located a blank piece of paper. Well, it was better than nothing.
September 13 th , 3:08 a.m., he scribbled down, handwriting an utter mess, I am on the brink of scientific greatness. Formula HJ-7 is ready for testing, and I have found the perfect subject: myself.
The formula was a vibrant red until the addition of the salt, at which point it turned deep purple for a few moments, then stabilized into a watery green.
He set down the pen and picked up the phial. After only a moment of hesitation, he tipped it upwards and downed the contents, wincing at the salty sting in his throat. He returned the phial to its stand and picked up the pen.
3:11 a.m. Consumed 10 centiliters of formula HJ-7. Salty, bitter taste, warm in the gullet. Heat spreading through my veins.
He stopped writing for a moment as a sudden dizzy spell briefly overtook him.
Lightheadedness, unclear if it’s due to the formula or other factors. Slight feeling of euphoria, also unclear if the formula is the source. No noticeable behavioral differences.
A giggling fit followed this note, preventing him from recording any further observations. Euphoria, indeed. Maybe he spoke a little too soon with the ‘no behavioral differences’ part.
Was it just him, or was the room suddenly heating up? He undid the first few buttons of his shirt, hoping to relieve some of the suffocating heat that overcame him. Could this be because of the formula?
Strange, he hadn’t realized how many unknowns would be involved in this test. Maybe he should–
A stabbing pain in his abdomen interrupted this train of thought. What was that? That wasn’t supposed to happen! Frantically, he grabbed the pen.
Something is wrong. Stabbing pain in the gut, spreading to the rest of my body. Must counteract, before–
The pen slid out of his fingers as he collapsed to the ground with a scream of agony. At first he tried to stand up, hoping to reach the antidote, but all such attempts proved to be utterly useless. In the end, all he could do was curl up into a ball, whimpering in pain.
Was this what dying felt like? Every bone in his body was breaking, grinding against each other into new, twisted shapes. Whatever was left of his stomach churned, and he could feel the bile against the back of his throat. Knives stabbed into his temples. No, it was worse than knives. How could one body physically experience such torture?
Please, just let me die. Make it stop!
And all of a sudden, it was gone, just as fast as it came.
He stood up, leaning on his desk until his head stopped spinning enough for him to balance on his own. He took an unsteady step forward and immediately collapsed back on the ground in a heap of limbs and unkempt hair.
Unkempt hair... was it always this long? Or this dark? He clambered up into a kneeling position, not trusting himself to keep his balance on his feet. He tried to run his fingers through his hair, wincing when they immediately got caught in tangles. Strange; it had been in at least a messy ponytail before, how could it have gotten this tangled so quickly?
He carefully extricated his fingers from his hair, not failing to notice the claw-like nails he knew for a fact were not there before. It must have been the formula, there was no other explanation. Had it changed anything else?
As he had no access to a mirror at the moment, he felt in his pockets for his phone, noting with displeasure that it was no longer anywhere on his person. After a few moments of searching, he located it on the ground a few feet away. He snatched it up, ignoring the new cracks in its screen. That was a problem for later. He quickly opened the camera and switched it to selfie mode.
Well, he certainly looked different. Truly, this face had absolutely nothing in common with the one he had shed moments ago. His skin was a sickly pale color, and his dark, wild hair nearly entirely covered his face. His eyes, however, still pierced through the mane. And what eyes they were. The eyes staring back at him were green, much like a more saturated version of the formula. His pupils, almost cat-like at certain moments, were ringed by a red strip. Yes, these eyes were nothing like the warm brown ones he was so used to seeing.
And yet... they weren’t those of a stranger. Somehow, these eyes – this body – was his , just as much as the one he had always worn. The face staring back at him was unlike any he had ever seen, but it was as familiar to him as if it had always been his own.
Well, one thing was clear: that formula did not work as planned.
Lisa woke to the sound of her phone buzzing incessantly. With a groan, she grabbed it off the nightstand. Morning already?
No, it was only four a.m. The source of the buzzing, she quickly discovered, was a hundred or so texts from Henry. What was he doing awake? She scrolled through the texts, eyes growing wider and wider as she went on.
Lisa
Lisa!
LISA!
WAKE UP
I MESSED UP
THE FORMULA WORKS
I THINK
WELL NOT REALLY
BUT IT DID SOMETHING
I DID SOMETHING STUPID
OR MAYBE IT WAS GENIUS
I DON’T KNOW
I’VE ONLY JUST CHANGED BACK
HOW LONG BEFORE YOUR WORK TRIP’S OVER
also i think i broke my phone
Lisa turned off her phone and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Heaving a sigh, she climbed out of the bed and started packing up her suitcase again, mentally crafting the long email she would have to send to her boss about why she had to leave. It appeared her trip was being cut short.