Chapter 7

So. So-so-so. What the actual fuck happened?

A sudden realization hit me, and my eyes widened in horror. My hands shot to my ass. Squeezing, pressing here and there—relief flooded me. No pain. My ass was fine. Disaster averted. Guess we can rule out the "home-invading booty warrior" theory. Jesus, I might've just freaked out for nothing.

I bolted to the bathroom—don't ask why. I just REALLY felt like sitting down to think for a bit on my porcelain throne. You know, I enjoy morning musings. The wisdom of two lifetimes isn't something to waste frivolously.

To make the most of the time, I figured I should ponder deeply, as they say. So, what's the deal with the holes in my back? Drug-induced interrogation? Doesn't seem like it—I don't remember anything. Not even vaguely. Memory wipe? Maybe, but why? And by whom? Fury? What the hell would he gain from that? Huh… this is just getting curiouser and curiouser…

Could it be... my mutant X-gene activating? And my power is shitting myself inside out? Ahem.

Let's go over the clues. Injection. Fury. Why interrogate me? I'm about as suspicious as a houseplant. Did I slip up somewhere? I don't remember anything like that. Mutants? Nah, I didn't go biting anyone's boob. Venom? Pfft, not funny, and besides, I doubt that slimeball remembers me. Also, injections aren't Venom's style. If I'd woken up headless, then maybe. Deadpool? Hmm... Now there's a wildcard. She could've knocked me out, dragged me to a dark basement, spiked me with Viagra, and gone to town all night. Then, in the morning, she gave me a memory-wiping shot.

I glanced down at my little Tobias Junior. Doesn't look like he's been through any heavy lifting recently.

"Come on, dude. Was there sex? What's the last thing you remember?"

Silence. Too proud to answer, maybe. Or he just doesn't think answering a primitive like me is worth his time.

Okay, okay, deep breath. Feels like I almost turned myself inside out for a second there. What if it was some kind of combat laxative? You know, like a weaponized arrow or dart smeared with that stuff? The kind where the enemy soldier suddenly starts ferociously assaulting the nearest bushes with their bare ass?

Alright, jokes aside. Panic subsiding. Judging by the marks on my back, that injection must've hurt like hell, and I remember nothing. Tossing on my pajama top, I headed for the door, only to stop mid-step. Injection. Fury. Could it be... the Infinity Formula? Like a gift for his daughter's future hubby?

Nah, I shook it off and kept moving. That's absurd. We've been dating for, what, two days? No way he'd hand out something like that so early. That's wedding-level generosity—or baby-on-the-way-level. Or, more likely, never-level. Besides, it doesn't make sense to inject a 14-year-old with the stuff. It's supposed to enhance regeneration among other things, but the bruise on my back looks fresh. If I'd been injected with the serum, it would've healed by now. And the puncture marks? Gone.

Oh, Gigi's alarm's going off. I greeted the moms in the kitchen, downed some water, caught G on her way to the bathroom, and planted a quick kiss on her little pumpkin head. She mumbled something like, "GooMernenBo," and I headed off to change and pack for the day.

I gave my room a thorough once-over. No empty syringes. No vials. The window was open—of course, it's warm at night. I checked the sill and the outer wall. No signs of anything. No ANBU lurking outside. No climbing ropes. No fire truck with an extending ladder in sight. Then again, a pro wouldn't leave traces. They've got gadgets and stealth tech. Maybe someone's across the street on a rooftop, using a Hyuga-level super vision to keep an eye on me. Later, they swoop in on an anti-grav board, spray me in the face with knockout mist, and—chp!—leave me with some unregistered punctures.

Wait a minute. What if they planted a tracker in me? I touched the injection site. It hurt too much to feel for anything through the bruise. Should I get an X-ray? Make up some excuse about chest pain?

Ugh. Whatever. I don't get it, but at least I'm not dying. Should I tell the moms? Nah. Who knows how these mystery needle-ninjas would react. If I start feeling sick, maybe I'll say something. For now, though? I'm closing the damn window tonight. And maybe sticking a hair on the frame as a tamper-evident seal. Yeah, let's do that.

But first—a divine breakfast, lovingly prepared by the great Mom Judy, awaits!

Breakfast went better than usual. You know how sometimes you're eating, and it's delicious, but a few bites are just a bit too hot and end up scorching your mouth a little? Well, today, Mama Judy outdid herself. I don't know how she managed it—probably by accident—but the temperature of the dish was absolutely PERFECT. Heh, looks like the day's already shaping up nicely!

After showering the moms with kisses, I reminded Betty about finding a martial arts class. That earned me a snort from G and a disapproving glare from Mom Judy. Then Gigi and I headed to the temple of knowledge, trading playful banter along the way. I really, really hoped today would be uneventful. The more I think about it, the less I think heroics are for me. Those guys deal with this kind of stress daily. Me? I just want a quiet life.

______________________________

In a locked room, two women sat. One older, one younger. The older one stared grimly at a monitor. The younger fiddled with her wedding ring, glaring at a corner of the room as if deep in thought. After a moment, the older woman leaned back in her chair, exhaling in relief.

"It's fine. Don't worry. The universal neutralizer worked. Whatever was injected into him isn't dangerous to normal humans. It's unpredictable for mutants, sure, but for a regular boy? He probably wouldn't even notice. It just slightly dulls critical thinking, increases certain hormone levels. Makes the target more impulsive, emotional, and gullible. Perfect for manipulating men—it only works on them, after all. Just apply it to exposed skin. The dose he received was minimal. It was already wearing off. At most, it would've been gone in a day or two."

The younger woman nodded, her icy rage softening. "Got it, thanks," she said, offering a grateful smile. "And the neutralizer? No side effects?"

"None, except maybe some sudden diarrhea in a few hours. It might even act as a mild stimulant. Totally safe. This isn't a cheap battlefield solution, after all. The main question here is who managed to introduce this stuff into his system, and how?" 

The older woman clenched her jaw, shrugging. "We'll find out. Anything else?"

"So, what about the girl?" the younger woman asked.

"No problems there either," the elder woman smiled. "If she weren't black, I'd have slipped her some horse aphrodisiac and locked them in a room for a day to really seal the deal. Healthy, clever, beautiful, and principled. Who would've thought—practically an animal, yet so impressive."

"Are you planning to do any work on her?" the younger woman wrinkled her nose slightly. "Do we even need her around him?"

"Oh, let them have their fun. The boy's at that age," the older woman said dismissively. "If they break up—great. If not—it's not the end of the world. We've still got room for at least two more spots. As his first love, this wild one will entertain him for a couple of years. Then we can introduce him to the right girls, maybe even sooner. Let him get used to it, acclimate. I actually ordered a shortlist of candidates earlier this year. I'll let you review it soon."

"So you're not doing anything about her? What if there are kids? You're not seriously—" The younger woman trailed off, making vague hand gestures.

"She's a girl," the older woman sighed. "You're demonizing me again, and it's a little offensive, honestly. Let them live. Let them reproduce. I'm telling you, she's not a problem. And their kids wouldn't be a problem either. Worst case, we make sure she has a normal, white baby. Even if they have mixed ones, the world can call it our charity work."

The older woman chuckled as though she'd told a fantastic joke. The younger one, however, only managed a sour smile.

"Don't worry, dear," the older woman said, her tone soothing but with an edge of amusement. "They'll be fine. I'm serious. We've got all of his genetic material on file. Even if everything goes completely off-plan, we'll ensure he has the right kind of kids, even if he never knows about them. I've said it before—I don't want to interfere too much in his life. Let him be happy. Let him live well. By the way, has he started showing an interest in martial arts? What triggered that? Was it the Wilson encounter?"

"No, he's obsessed with Deadpool. She signed an autograph for him, and it's framed on his nightstand. On the back, she wrote her number with, 'For emergencies or fucking.' What's the plan to handle that?"

The older woman raised an eyebrow, then burst into laughter, her mirth genuine. Once she calmed down, she explained her amusement.

"That's not a problem; it's an opportunity. I'll find him a great instructor, someone skilled. And we'll put him in the right group where the right girls will help this gentle boy master self-defense. In this day and age, knowing how to land a solid punch and run like hell is useful for everyone. As for the instructor… Oh, right. Why did you break Claire's arm?"

"That bitch," the younger woman's expression darkened immediately, her composure shattered by rage. "That dumb slut gave me a faulty injector. I used it to sedate the boy and give him the shot under his shoulder blade. The damn thing fired so hard I thought it would blow a hole in his back. It jolted my arm like I was handling a jackhammer. And this… this fucking moron tells me, 'It's adaptive, designed to adjust to material resistance for combat scenarios.' I wanted to kill her. Why the hell would you use that kind of device on a boy, especially with the settings all messed up? Ugh, she's a such a dumb fucking cunt."

The older woman shook her head. She didn't approve of such language, but she couldn't help sympathizing.

"All right, darling. That'll be all for now. Before you leave, stop by Lab Three and freshen up your disguise. It's about time."

"Understood. Have a good day."

"You too, dear. Oh, and send Claire to me once they've 'fixed' her arm."

End of school day. Pure bliss. Penny was on fire today. I never knew she could be such a… show off. She caught me before school even started, kissed me on the cheek, and grabbed my hand. Didn't even maul G, though they exchanged greetings. And G? Oh, man. You should've seen the look on her face. Fifty percent smug amusement, fifty percent… anticipation. Watching her walk off to her friends, all of whom stared at us with jaws on the floor—yeah, Penny's definitely the talk of the class today.

There aren't many boys in school. Four per class if you're lucky, sometimes none at all. So whether they watch or not, people pay attention when there's someone to watch. I don't escape the scrutiny, but luckily, I'm only 14. Compared to the 17-year-olds and up, I don't really stand out. No fan club yet—or at least, none I know about.

Anyway, she held my hand all the way to our lockers. Even Petra, who was busy rummaging through hers, gave us a wide-eyed look. Flash shot Penny an approving glance with a tinge of envy. Harry grinned like a kid at Christmas. And the reason he was grinning so much was that about a year ago, we had a bet on who would officially start dating a girl first. As you probably guessed, that bastard won. Luckily, the bet was for a hundred bucks, and I had cash on me, so I handed it over. In return, I got a pat on the shoulder and a smug "Toby, you're still too green to challenge Harry Osborn."

We traded jokes as we headed to class. Even when we got to the door, Penny didn't let go of my hand—just let me walk in first before following me. She led me to my seat, kissed my cheek again, and floated off to hers, soaking in all the attention. Except for MJ. That idiot just sat there, glaring daggers at my back. Moron.

The rest of the day was much the same. Penny dialed up the queen act, even pulling out my chair for me at one point. I kept my cool—everyone was watching—but later, I whispered that while her care was adorable, the chair thing wasn't really my style. I played it right: thanked her for being sweet and mentioned she looked stunning today, but asked that we save the chair moves for events with a fancier vibe.

On the way home, I suggested we grab a bite at a cafe. Honestly, I just wanted to spend more time with her before my training session. But she looked at me with such a guilty, almost frightened expression and said:

"Toby, I'd love to, but… my dad's leaving tomorrow morning, and I really want to spend more time with him…"

"Say no more, love," I cut her off gently. Ooh, she was still dark and moody now, but not scared anymore. "Family comes first. I'll walk you home—I just want to be with you a little longer."

She smiled and nodded. My girlfriend. Holy crap. And not just any girlfriend—officially my girlfriend, stamped, signed, and sealed by both families.

But the real highlight of the day, the moment that made everything else worth it, happened in front of her house. Penny finally got over her shyness and kissed me. Really kissed me. Long, clumsy, but determined. For almost a full minute, we stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, lips locked. When the sweet moment ended, Penelope—dark as the night and just as mysterious—blurted out, "I-love-you-too-bye!" in one breath, hugged me tightly again, and bolted inside. I looked up at her window just in time to see the curtains snap shut. Someone had definitely been spying on us, curious about how tonight's little adventure would go.

I walked home practically floating. Though a nagging thought crept in—was this whole "wait till we're both eighteen" plan really the smartest move? I mean, how am I any different from regular people? Just because I remember my past life? Does that make me some kind of creepy old perv? What about people who don't remember their past lives? They could have lived through millennia and no one bats an eye. Yeah, that's a million-dollar question for you.

Back home, I got a bit of work done on a new project, hit the pool for some laps, and let the endorphins carry me through the evening. Ah, youth and love—what a cocktail. Life's good.

The rest of the day stayed blissfully uneventful, much to my surprise. Honestly, I'd half expected something wild to happen. Guess the universe decided to give me a break.

During dinner with the family, I asked mom Betty about the hando-footo-slappo thing again, and she let out a heavy sigh in response.

"Toby, sweetie, it's not that simple. I've asked the ladies at work, but there aren't many places that accept boys. You have to understand, I can't just send you anywhere. It takes time to research these places, visit them, and talk to the staff and coaches. I've already checked out two on my route home—one's a total dump, and the other's run by a guy with a sketchy past. You're not going to either of those, no way." She paused, thoughtful. "How about this: on my next day off, I'll dig into this properly, and if I find a good place, we'll visit it together. Deal?"

"Yes, Mom! Of course! Sorry, I didn't realize it was such a big deal."

I felt a bit guilty. In my head, it was all so simple. Mom orders; minions deliver. Cops should know about these places, right?

"It's okay, sweetheart." She smiled, reached over, and ruffled my hair.

"Moooom, come on!" I whined as laughter echoed around the table.

Before bed, I double-checked the window and stuck a hair across the latch. Glanced at the bruise on my arm. Still there. Definitely not the Serum of Eternity. As I crawled into bed, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Penny—a picture of her in bed, only her head and one bare shoulder peeking out from under the covers. That seductive shoulder! The message below read: "Goodnight, my love."

I stared at the photo for a while, just soaking in how stunning she was. My girlfriend. Then, inspired, I snapped my own picture, lying in bed, subtly flexing to show off my swimmer's chest. 'Yeah, take that, Alex. My torso's badass now too.' Wrote back: "Sweet dreams, my darling." And closed my eyes.

Falling asleep? Yeah, right. My mind was racing with… let's call them "creative" thoughts. Blame it on Mars being especially bright tonight or something.

Dream me was decked out in full Hydra armor, helmet tucked under one arm, a Gauss rifle slung across my back. My troops stood at attention, their black armor gleaming, blood-red visors glowing ominously. Every one of them gripped their weapons tight, the Hydra emblem blazing on their chests.

"HYDRA!" I roared. "Each of you is ready to give your life for the greater cause. We are doctors, tending to the sickness of humanity. We are healers, mending the wounds of this world. And today, we are surgeons, cutting out the malignant tumors of society! You know our mission: cleanse this filth, eradicate the infection, destroy every last carrier of this vile disease!" My voice trembled with fury, my chest burning with righteous rage.

"Do not trust them!" I shouted. "Do not believe the lies of these monsters. Ignore their pleas for mercy. Go forth and kill them all—leave no sick bastard standing!" I thrust my fist into the air. "HYDRA DOMINATUS!"

"HYDRA DOMINATUS!" they echoed, sixty voices strong, fists raised.

I donned my helmet, chambered a round, and led them forward, boots pounding like a drumbeat of judgment. The sign ahead read: "50 meters to the filming location of 'Geordie Shore'."

As the squad disappeared around the corner, a caricatured Krieg Death Korps soldier turned to an equally absurd-looking Imperial Guardsman. His body language screamed 'What the hell?'

"Eh, who cares," muttered the Guardsman. "Cadia still stands, anyway."

Gunfire and screams echoed from the direction the Hydra squad had gone. The Guardsman smirked.

"So that's what Hydra domination sounds like."

"Daaaamn right!" the Krieg soldier agreed with a delighted growl.

I woke up drenched in cold sweat. Glanced at the clock—2:30 a.m. What the hell was that? Clearly, the traumas of my past life had left their mark. I sighed, checked the window for any shady movement, and rolled over. "Dear Goddess," I muttered, "just send me a normal dream next time. I'll even take a wet one. Please."