In the former state of Ohio many factions fight to claim the land as their own. For one rebellious Wyld, she too battles internally in order to maintain some semblance of her previous life while struggling to adapt to what she had become. Can a negotiator from the Northwest do the impossible and peacefully resolve the conflicts on the battlefield and within this young Wyld's heart?

The Heart of it All
A Wyld Universe Story
Part 2
by AoifeM

I turned off the faucet of my shower. My naked body glistened within the golden morning light. My naked, female body.

I wrapped a towel around my waist. I still didn’t know what was more irritating; I could either wrap the towel around my waist and let my breasts jiggle like wild, unable to ignore the feeling, or cover them up and give in to another feminine behavior.

Fuck that. I may be a woman but the hell I would let it control me, control what I was.

My name is Scott Ryan, and no, I won’t feminize it. I am 19 years old, and have been for ten years.

That’s my gift, or curse, depending on how you feel about it. Hyperactive cellular regeneration. Cut off my hand, few hours later I get a new one. Pop my head like a balloon, and a few days later, I grow another, my brain’s memories intact. And yes, it keeps me 19. Nothing short of Immolation or Cancer could kill me.

I guess it’s not that bad- I can thank God I don’t have to suffer with periods, but just the fact I even had to think about that pisses me off.

I began to strap on my bra. I detested this, but back pain doesn’t help, even if they’re a B. Plus having them jiggle even a little tends to remind me of what I’ve become. I’d rather not be distracted, particularly when in battle.

The TV was on in the background.
Tragedy struck in the former city of Columbus today. While it has become a ghost town, it was the agreed upon site where three high ranking officials of the three nations were to sit down and negotiate terms to finally end the war which had plagued this land for the past 8 years. Sponsored by the Cascadian government, the meetings came to a screeching halt as the terrorist group, headed by the enigmatic leader Scott Ryan launched an attack and destroyed the old Government Complex where the meetings were held, killing the Vice President of the United States and Merchant General of the Lake States. The Confederate Government, who hadn’t arrived by the time the attack was launched, issued this statement:

“We fight blindly, man against man, each death is another win for the Devil. We must put aside our differences as Satan’s Army marches forth. Scott Ryan is a sympather of the devil’s army, the Wyld, and Cascadia was a tool. The only way for peace is to eliminate those who further instigate this war. Scott Ryan must be stopped.”

I didn’t do that. Neither did my “army,” if you wanna call it that. I was set up, and obviously the Confederates were the top of my suspects list. Direct the other two countries against us while the Confederates pull the rug up from below them, attacking them when they expect it. The motive was definitely there too.

“I see you’ve heard the news just now,” a voice said from beyond the bedroom door. Trish came in and plopped on her bed. Wherever we went we shared rooms, and had for the past 5 years. Right now we set up a small camp in a little Village called East Liberty. The advantage is that it lies near a former automobile plant. Those resources could prove useful in our fight.

We could never stay forever though. We’re nothing more but a small guerilla group of Wyld and Wyld Sympathizers. We always or on the go, salvaging what we can and freshen up whenever we stop, hoping to always be one step ahead of our enemies.

That’s what I fight for. I fight for the hope that one day, I, and any other Wyld can finally sit down and call a place home.

“How is he?” I asked while pulling on my wifebeater shirt. We found Ian Kennedy, the Cascadian ambassador, lying in the rubble in the former ghost town of Columbus a few days ago. There was bodies everywhere, but he the only one who was clinging to life. We were able to treat him and he woke up not too long ago. I decided to give Mr. Kennedy a little time to recoup before we had our little chat.

“He seems to be doing well,” Trish replied. “Gave him another dose of nanomachines, they seemed to clean him up pretty good.”

Trish is an interesting Wyld. At a young age, when being Wyld was a new and frightening thing, some doctors felt they could prevent her ever changing into one. By using nanomachines, the theory was that they could work on the cellular level, and any form of change could be negated by the machines “curing” it. Oddly enough though, when she was 19 she went Wyld anyway. And her gift? She can control those same nanomachines that were injected into her a long time ago, shaping them into whatever form she desires. She can create daggers with just her thoughts, damage other people’s cellular structures while healing others, and destroy most electrical products. Oh…and her clothes well…those are nanomachines too, changing to whatever suits her.

Trish continued. “I still don’t know if we can trust him.”

“We’ll need him, Trish.” And we do. That’s only the half of it though. I guess…I kind of pitied him. He shouldn’t have been involved in such nonsense. He shouldn’t have to die for our battle.

“But now he knows who you are!” she quipped. And it’s true, not even my standing army knows who I am. When in battle most people just see me as just an ordinary Wyld female, or “Commander Trish’s secretary”. Only Trish, Grond, the earth manipulating, metal eating giant, and Marcus, my good friend and ex-priest, knows I’m Scott Ryan. But I wouldn’t have given Ian my name if I didn’t think it was necessary.

“Look,” I began to explain, “You saw the news, “People are out there, blasting us for things we didn’t commit. We need him on our side. We need an outside source to understand our plight. Without connections we’ll be stuck in this…limbo. He can help persuade people to change their minds. And if we can gain support, we’ll be one step closer to sovereignty.”

“I’ll trust your judgment, Sis. I won’t get in the way.”

Normally I would snap if anyone would call me “Sis.” But Trish and I are very close. She was there when I needed her. Helped me cope, even just slightly. To be honest, she’s my best friend. Even if we weren’t related, I still think of her as my sister, the closest thing to family I have.

I used to have a family. I used to be loved. I had everything really, I was a pretty athletic man, intelligent to boot. I was going to head to college, thinking of becoming a geneticist. I had the girl of my dreams. Miriam, that was her name. Not too typical not too extreme, that name was just right.

…That’s where my journey begins.

Piqua, Ohio, August 2, 2013

She wrapped her arms securely around my shoulders. She was kissing me all over as she sat on my lap in the front seat of my 7 year old Jeep Liberty. This was the last time I ever felt so alive.

She paused and began to stare directly into my eyes. “I can’t believe in a few weeks we’ll be heading to college. It’s so unbelievable.”

“Why’s that?” I quipped

“You know how it is, when you start getting into a routine? How you go every day feeling like nothing is ever going to change, and then one day, it’s over and suddenly it does?”

I laughed a little bit. “You want me to pinch you, see if you’re dreaming?”

She smiled in a seductive manner, and replied, “If this is a dream, I’d rather not know it.” She resumed kissing me as leaned the front seat back.

It was the last time we ever gotten to do this. I was heading up north to Bowling Green University in a couple days. I was hoping to return to her on Labor Day and continued our relationship. I never thought this last time was truly the last time.

After we had our little “fun,” I decided it would be best to drop her off for the night. I was tired and I knew that I still had things to pack and not whole lot of time to do it.

The next day I began to pack. I was carrying a mirror downstairs, and suddenly tripped. The shattered glass wound up stuck in my hand, causing them to bleed profusely. Taking a deep breath I slowly pulled the shard out from my palm, causing the blood to further gush out. I screamed in pain, and luckily my parents weren’t home, because the minute shook me to the core.

Just seconds as I removed the shard of glass from the palm of my hand, the wound began to close up. Almost a minute later, it was good as new, not even scar to show for it.

“Holy Shit!” I cried in disbelief.

Becoming Wyld isn’t uncommon, it happens every day. But this is Ohio, and the safe bet is, if you were Wyld, you better keep it hidden.

Quickly I cleaned up the mess and continued to pack like nothing happened. I thought that that was the extent of my transformation, and if that was it, then at least I can maintain some form of a normal life.

Go figure that wouldn't happen. It only took a few hours after this incident before I felt a hot uncomfortable feeling, running throughout my body. I later understood that this feeling is a hot flash.

Still this feeling was foreign, and at this time, I hadn’t clue what it was. Did the glass cause this? I looked at my hand. It seemed a little different; more slender? And was my index finger a little bigger than my ring finger? How didn’t I notice that before?

I just shook it off as nothing. I guess I hadn’t paid attention before. Soon after that “hotness” within me disappeared I was back to doing my packing. Night fell and my parents came home and helped me with my long enduring chore. That’s when it happened…

The burning came back. I dropped what I was doing and fell to my knees, holding my stomach as I felt like I was turning inside out.

As I lowered my head I stared in horror as my chest started to inflate and mounds of flesh began to fill my shirt. My hair turned red and grew out and hung over my head, blocking my view. Suddenly I felt a “crack” sound as my hips gave out and I fell onto back, writhing in agony. My muscles thinned out, I still retained a physique, but, my arms were slender and my hips widened. I felt my penis retract, and I knew then what was about to happen. I tried so hard to fight it, but if I couldn’t get this out I felt I was gonna burn alive.
With a push I felt my vagina split open. The heat and pain subsided, and the damage was done. Scott Ryan the man, was dead.

I immediately sat up in horror, oblivious to the fact I wasn’t the only one who witnessed my change. My mom screamed in a panic, and the sound traveled down the hall. That immediately caught my dad’s attention, and when he arrived and saw me his jaw dropped.

“…Dad,” I struggled to say.

The loving parents I had died on that day as well. “G-get away!” my dad cried, scared to death and unable to process the reality of the situation, “Y-you you’re a monster!”

The pain I felt inside was different then the last time, but it was unfamiliar nonetheless. It was first time I felt rejection.

He saw an old ball bat, which I used when I was in Little League. He grabbed it and began to hold it with the intent to attack me. “Leave us you demon!” He swung wildly, destroying many of my items, items I was going to take to college to me. Now I doubt even college was in my future.

I was freaking out. First I turned into a girl, and now my dad is threatening to kill me. There was only one way out: the window in my room behind me. I quickly leap out the second story window and fell into the ground below, most likely breaking my arm in the process. I didn’t have time to scream in pain, I had to run. I gather myself and took off.

This was only the beginning of my nightmare….

Lost in my thoughts, the knock on my door startled me into my senses. Blinking just a little to regain my composure, Trish went ahead and got the door for me.

She opened it, and Ian was there completely up and about. “I was told you were staying here. I’d like to have this discussion if you’re ready.”

It was time to put my best foot forward. It’s time to carry out my plan.