Trigon Apotheosis

Chapter 18 (Transformation)

Raven bit her tongue, she felt insulted and belittled. It was extraordinarily redundant to pass on orders to her and Beast Boy that they had to rescue Starfire. Recommendations, subtle hints, or even an all-knowing wink and smile were unnecessary since both of them were mentally prepared, to jump into danger for each other and anyone else they cared for, and all without a word needing to be said.

Who the hell did Fixit and Mod think they were? Did they truly realize who they were talking to? This was a slight against her dignity, a stain on the name of the Teen Titans.

Raven gravely doubted that Fixit, and especially Mad Mod, had ever once in their life risked their well-being for people out of reasons of an ethical or moral principle or even out of compassionate nature. In Raven’s eyes Fixit was all machine and stood for logic and mathematics above all else. She could think of him like a penny-pinching business man would only act if the benefits outweighed the expense and thus saving Starfire was both a short and long-term investment, one that he would want to yield positive benefits.

Mod on the other hand was a self-serving bastard who only had his desires in mind. The idea that these deviants suddenly found the appreciable foundation to go out of their way for Starfire’s sake on simple ethical principle was a joke, and no one found it funny..

There was a flicker of electric power and the large monitor upon the wall shut off with a crackle. The wireframe map faded into obscurity, the act of which seemed to trigger a previously unseen door to quickly slide ajar. Fixit gracefully glided across the floor and exited into this new room with everyone, like mice entranced by the piper, involuntarily following in silent procession.

The lighting in the next room wasn’t any better, halogen lamps with pitifully underpowered light bulbs were employed to highlight everything they could within their respective cone of light. They served their duty well enough in this smaller room but simply relying on starlight probably would yield better results. In here the ten or so paltry lamps were paired up and situated above an accompanying table. Surgery tables, no less, five of them neatly arranged in a half-circle with their proximity so close that the foot of each table touched its neighbors that allowed easy access to each one from a single stationary position.

“So this is where you took everything from the hospital,” Raven said, and it was true.

There were trays of surgical tools, bulky MRI scanners, EEG monitors, EEC monitors, x-ray machines, life support equipment, and so forth. Aligning the walls, surrounding this medical mess, were numerous shelves and cabinets full of engineering tools, gizmos, spare parts, large spools of cables and wires, and even a healthy library of technical manuals and binders. The room was one single chaotic upheaval without any regards to aesthetics or hygiene.

This was only semblance of order in the cramped room, but they were also a source of revulsion and disgust. Each of the tables was covered and permanently stained with a dark viscous liquid. Raven assumed that it was just oil, or at least hoped it wasn’t blood. The existence of several dilapidated carcasses of aphid bots laid out twisted and broken gave credence to the former idea.

Her senses also become aware that the most, if not all, the gadgets and gizmos placed in this chaotic storageroom had the same kind of stains and the room had the decidedly strong stench of motor oil. None of these appeasing signs did any good to silence the warnings and alarms ringing in her head; warning her it was a mistake to enter further. Maybe it was the subconscious revulsion that arose from being in close proximity to filthy medical tools. That she might contract some sort of rare disease that would eat all her skin or do something equally as horrible. Alternately it could be due to the very surreal and oppressive atmosphere, the kind extracted from and normally attributed to horror movies.

“This place is my primary workshop,” Fixit announced anti-climatically. “This is where I make various robotic constructs; the units visible upon your arrival and other such constructs.”

“This dump?” Beast boy was dubious and gave the room a second look over. “It looks worse than my room, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Yeah, hard to believe anything could look worse then that.” Raven painted sarcastic, but she wasn’t interested in a competition of who could sport the dirtiest sinkhole of depravity. Here was the proof that Fixit, indeed, was responsible for creating the aphid bots.

Oh sure, it might’ve seemed obvious that they were his right from the get go, but prior experience when witness to Fixit’s handy work told her that enough to off-handedly dismissed it as very crude, sloppy, and haphazard.

Take the little waiter bot for example; the same one that had served them sandwiches moments ago. It had all the symptoms of being a rushed construction thrown together from scraps on hand. It was barely functional and unappealing to behold; further evidence of a process that was an ostensibly random selection of marginally functional parts and cannibalizing them to form an amateurish automaton.

This was not the case with the aphids robots; they were streamlined and efficient, sporting multiple functions and tools, and able to operate independently across a wide range of tasks. The obvious skill and attention was why she’d had trouble giving him credit before. The moniker Fixit was for his skills in repairing and not so much for building. The Aphids were the antithesis to what Raven had come to expect of one of Fixit’s own creations. Well, he had had time and many reasons why to perfect his craft after all.

Predictably she didn’t voice any of this to the stoic Fixit..

“Time is critical,” Fixit said, “It is necessary that you prepare for your task immediately without further pointless delay or distraction.”

Fixit brusquely brushed aside an Aphid carcass from the closest table, it crashed to the ground like a broken household appliance. “But first we must render your distinguishing characteristics invisible to enemy eyes.” He turned to Raven and beckoning her to sit atop the newly vacant surgery table. She looked at him as if he’d suddenly gone computer senile.

“What are you going to do?” Raven said with hesitation. Anxiety bubbled, the painful bruise on her midsection took on new life as she recalled the last time she’d let anyone try and help her to blend in.

Responding to Raven’s visible discomfort Fixit quickly added “You will feel no discomfort nor come to harm in any way.”

“Couldn’t you give Raven a cool disguise like mine?” Beast Boy said.

“Raven’s requirements do not justify the expenditure of a full body hologram suit as you do. A simple adjustment of her hair and eye color will fulfill the purpose more economically.”

“What if I refuse?” Raven stood defiantly.

“You are free to do so, but I will warn you that the consequences of such a course of action will be most severe.”

“Don’t be such a stubborn hothead, lass. You should know when to open up and take your medicine. It is for your own good.”

“That’s a fine line coming from you.” Raven sneered.

Fixit again tried to calm Raven’s uncertainties by dictating an info dump of an explanation about the particulars of the process which would, in so many words, be simple, quick, and would not require extensive medical procedures or radical physical alterations.

It involved an in depth lecture on the nature of the eye’s tunica vasculosa ocul layer and how to alter its pigmentation through the shifting of the ratios of eumelanin produced by melanocytes in the iris. Pigmentation in the dead cells of hair could be changed by similar means of removing the presence of eumelanin and pheomelanin and how it could be done without causing irreversible rapid hair loss. It was a very dry, long winded explanation that was not a hair less complicated then it needed to be; no pun intended for sure. In this mission it had failed in alleviate her concerns so much as to make her horribly confused and it sent Beast Boy’s brain boiling. Mad Mod acted as if he’d heard it all before; giving the task of cleaning his fingernail his undivided attention.

“Is it too much to ask for you to repeat that in English this time?” BB had demanded.

Fatigue and a familiar sense of exasperation materialize themselves as a heavy sigh, Raven scratched her head in an active attempt to settle on a decision. Raven understood the basics of what Fixit was aiming to do and that it would require the services of a small nanomachine colony, of Fixit’s own design, to be injected and employed in Raven’s transformation.

-Nanomachines-

The very idea of having microscopic machines crawling through her, changing things, gave her goose bumps. One in her system they could do anything Fixit wanted them to. She could refuse the proceedure, and no one could really blame her if she did, but she realized the validity of Fixit’s argument.

“Trust me” He said.

“What?” Raven was stunned, to say the at what she’d heard. Confused she gave Fixit a glaring inspection; what an uncharacteristic thing for him to say.

“I have been monitoring elements of your body language, facial expressions, skin perspiration levels, and fluctuations in your physical temperature since you arrived and I can conclude that…”

“Alright, I get it!” shouted as she finally conceding the point, “I’ll do it, but on three conditions.”

“Name them.” Fixit said.

“One, that you agree to remove these nanomachines the moment I say so or when the time comes that they are no longer necessary. Two, you will give us any supplies we request, and three,” Raven pointed a finger at the fiery Brit, “I refused to let Mad Mod accompany us.”

“What?!” Mod was alight with anger ready to explode all over Raven, “Insolent little pipsqueak…”

“Agreed,” Fixit affirmed quickly and confidently, maybe a little too quickly, but at least it drowned out Mod’s protests and spared everyone’s ears.

“Oy, such rebellious attitudes are intolerable!” Mod clutched his cane so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Your assistance is no longer requested on this task; you have been retired. I will instruct you later in other tasks that could use attention.”

“Be thankful his majesty speaks for you, my duckie. Otherwise I’d take you across my knee and whip some respect in to ya.” Mod gave his cane a sharp swing for emphasis.

“Your sarcastic remarks are out of line.”

“You’ve been owned Moddie. You should recognize your betters.” BB taunted using his best British impression.

Mod was ready to erupt like a volcano but, through some inner discipline, stayed in control. He turned his back to them, refusing to even acknowledged their presence anymore.

“Now, we shall begin.” Fixit said.

Raven watchfully approached the table in a similar fashion that one uses when faced with a sleeping dragon. It reeked heavily of oil and other hydraulic fluids, but was at least dry, if a bit gritty looking. Placing one hand on the side, ready to lift herself up, she suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“Do they really have to be here?”

Mod was not slow. He got the hint and proceeded to make a show of himself by stomping noisily off mumbling angrily to himself, not looking back, not giving then further consideration. Too bad the same couldn’t be said about BB, who just stood there looking as if someone had said something funny.

“Why are you guys looking at me” How clueless could he get?

“Maybe because you have stupid written on your face.” Maybe not literally, but he certainly had the expression of someone with no observable brain activity.

“Really?”

“Leave!” Raven barked.

“Geez, ok ok, you don’t have to shout.”

BB turned towards the exit, dragging his feet forlornly looking very much like the poor sap someone had rejected from the senior prom. He took one step over the threshold then turned to Raven one more time.

“Sure you’ll be ok?” He regarded her with unusual gravity.

“I’ll be fine.” Raven nodded in assurance, her anger softening from before. She started to apologize for her outburst but it was too late to say more as the door soundlessly cut them off leaving her alone with the indifferent tinkerer.

Raven effortlessly hoisted herself up onto the table, her legs dangling delicately off the side. It felt evocative of the last time she’d had a physical done at the doctors; unpleasant memories of the poking, prodding, shots, and examinations of her personal private parts. It made her feel very nervous, like a child dreading that flu shot. It was all for the best that Fixit was no doctor and this was certainly no hospice that anyone would willingly subject themselves to.

She made and abridged recounting of the reasons why she agreed to this in the first place. It didn’t help settle the anxiety.

“Lay down.” Fixit instructed bluntly.

As her back settled against the cold unyielding surface she could feel the layer of grit brush against her skin; her clothes too thin to provide a respite against the texture of sandpaper. Imperceptibly at first she began to feel a growing vibration below the table and a sound very much of a small engine sputtering into an unwilling life. Concurrently, Fixit stood over her examining her body, for what she was not sure, and seemed to be waiting for something to begin.

She had the dreaded feeling of a lab rat about to be dissected, dismembered, and scrutinized in the name of science or for unknown viscerally malicious reasons. For the second time she reminded herself of why she was doing this, but it had quickly lost all appeal.

Propping herself up she was ready to amend her earlier decision before a blur of movement forced her attention away. An instantaneous eruption from the underside of the table as black snake-like tendrils sped up like bullets, arcing through the air before wrapping themselves forcefully over her entire body, arms, and legs. Raven let out a strangled yelp of surprise as her head slammed against the table, causing her vision to spin and the crunch of bone against metal to pulsate worryingly in her ears. The belts tightened, shaping themselves to the curves of her body, pinning her down.

“What is this?” Raven the pressure making night impossible to breath. Stars danced and played in her eyes and her head felt full of cotton.

“It is to prevent injury caused by uncontrolled physical convulsion.” Fixit roughly grabbed her head and turned it, forced it, so that she was looking straight up at the ceiling. “Be calm and it will all be over soon.”

There was a clattering of metal and machinery as a square shaped apparatus of clamps and tubes closed in around her head. Cold metal panels encircled her head, tightened down, and clamped her head in a vice like grip, preventing any lateral movement whatsoever. She was helpless, completely and absolutely.

She breathed in rapid gasps and grunts as she desperately tried to break her bonds, the friction against her restrains was already causing her thin clothes to fray.

Her head held firmly in the apparatus, Fixit now lowered his right arm over her face and with her head held in an inescapable skyward stare it became the only thing she could see. Fixit pulled back the sleeve of his robe to reveal his arm, an unnaturally sleek limb of pure, unsegmented, armor. Its unnaturally polished surface reflected light in all directions.

There was a hiss of released pressure and an opening appeared on the otherwise flawless surface. Raven couldn’t see what was inside his arm but that didn’t concern her as much as what was coming out of it. She watched as a duo of thin threads emerged from the inside. The white transparent filaments seemed to glow with an internal light. Fiber optic tubes that each ended in a fine but blunt point.

Closing her eyes was futile as the apparatus used clamps to hold her eyelids open, far wider than she was even capable of. Tears formed as the air was quickly drying here eyes out and she felt the irrepressible urge to blink, but it was impossible. She saw her vision distort as the small fiber optic tubes pushed against her eyes, moving her cornea, artificially bending it inwards. A little further and she feared they would push right through.

Tears were running like rivers down here cheeks. She wanted to protest, but the pressure on her chest was slowly squeezing the life out of her.

A click,

The dry sound of air gun and a feeling of hot agony was shot into her eyes and ran through to the back of her skull. Her world turned white hot as the pain engulfing her whole head in a sensation of. She gasped for air, her lung begging for reprieve, and somehow she forced through a choked scream of agony and terror that was soon suppressed as the prison bands continued to asphyxiate her. She struggled violently against its unmovable bindings her skin burning from the friction.

She lost sense of how long it’d been, but after a tortuous eternity the pain began to, slowly at first, diminish. The clamps were released allowing Raven to blink, the water in her tears hydrating her dried out pupils aiding to dull the pain further. The blinding white hot light was dissipating in tune with the discomfort and as her vision returned she allowed herself a momentary instant to relax, slightly. To her comforted joy her eyes were still in their sockets and were working, to her disbelief, better and clearer then ever before. The room was brighter, objects more defined, and textures crisp in their detail. It didn’t seem that the level of illumination from the lamps had changed therefore; she concluded, it must be a side effect caused by the nanos.

“The process is complete.” Fixit proclaimed. Instantly the restraints were removed and the apparatus released. The musty air was sweet candy as Raven breathed it in deeply. She quickly rose up into a sitting position and used the excess momentum to roll off of the surgical table.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” Raven shouted. Yet Fixit ignored her, instead he held up a mirror so that Raven could judge for herself the changes he had made.

Anger was replaced with curiosity and skepticism as she peered at this unknown reflection. The deep violet hues of her eyes and hair were gone. This new person she saw in the mirror had never existed until mere seconds ago. Sapphire blue eyes reflected her incredulity as she contemplated dark hazel brown hair, moving her fingers through the smooth strands it to see if it really belonged to her.

She pulled her hair back, to see what she would look like in a ponytail, before releasing it again.

“I trust it is to your satisfaction?” Fixit said

“I didn’t do this because I wanted to. I don’t like it at all, its not me.” Raven said as she tried imagining herself with shorter hair. She wondered, when did she become so critical of her looks? She’d never been so concerned before. She wasn’t even sure how to react to this new development.

Fixit propped the mirror against some equipment and moved off to the side where he extracted a dirty laptop computer. Opening it he placed it on a shelf and began to type vigorously while Raven continued to self-inspect her newly discovered sense of self.

“You will be under my direct supervision,” Fixit said, “The status of the individual known as Raven will remain unknown. You are not to identify yourself as, nor discuss a possible relationship with the individual known as Raven. You will not disclose that you now or ever have an affiliation with the division known as the Teen Titans or even a previous livelihood within the borders of Jump City.”

“What are you my lawyer now?” Raven continued her examination

I will,” Fixit continued, “grant you full access to any supplied you desire under the guise of a new identity as one accommodated under my employment. This will require the input of a new file into the systems personnel file database with a name, background, and catalog of specific duties that you will be tasked to perform.”

“I have already decided on my name.” She averted herself away from the mirror unable to look at herself any longer. She took a deep breath and Fixit awaited her answer, fingers hovering over the keyboard in anticipation.

She had to suppress the urge for a last minute change. Part of her wanted to say something exotic like the name of a character from Shakespeare or any play by Sophocles, as it would be out of place and draw unwanted attention. On the other hand it couldn’t be a common, John Smith, moniker either. It had to have a meaning to it even if she would be the only one to understand its relevance.

So Raven buckled down and stood tall, with a voice as calm as she’d ever mustered before, announced to Fixit a new name, her new identity, hers alone for the foreseeable future.

“Rachel Robinson”

The transformation was complete.