mutated

chapter twenty eight: do not touch my fucking hair

Let me tell you this, it is not nice when your best friend singes the tips of your precious hair just to get your attention when you're hanging off a climbing frame that is set to have cold weather conditions as you near the top.

Number one. My hair is my beautiful pride and joy. No one messes with my hair.

Number two. Don't you think a column of flames right next to me would have sufficed? Why directly at me.

And number three. When said friend has been friends with you for nine years I'm pretty sure they know what you like and what you don't like. Like being warned before getting roasted (physically, not verbally).

My reaction was to spin out of the way so that only the tips were burnt (thankfully my eyebrows weren't burnt off), which meant that I released my hold on the ledge and ended up free falling towards the mat.

At 70km/h.

From 20m above the ground.

In 2 seconds.

Managing a shrillish yelp as I plummeted to the floor, I curled into a fetal position and tried to stop my fall. Just as I was millimeters from the floor, my descent finally slowed, and I smashed into the floor slightly more lightly than I would have at maximum velocity. I looked up at my assailant and sighed. Ruby. Of course. The hiss of steam gave it away.

There are better ways to tell me something than blasting me off a climbing wall. The climbing wall had been reconstructed by me in my spare time waiting for my cage matches, and instead of being restricted to just one floor of a five-meter tall wall, I had constructed a wall that stretched from the bottom of the building all the way to the top, roughly 100m tall. Yes, dangerous since I was doing it without a harness, but I had a month to make it. I was bored.

The construction had not been easy, but it had become a task that kept me focused and not bored because now I had a target. Endless battles with whoever happened to be in the training room grew to become morning exercises every day instead of a thrilling chance to fight someone because we had become so accustomed to each other's fighting patterns that it was no longer a challenge.

Constructing it had taken a lot out of me, and it was both mentally and physically draining. I had enlisted the help of Jason at the beginning, just for the main structure of the wall, before I realized that I actually had to do the rest of it myself. Using my telekinesis, I sat on a piece of concrete which whizzed up and down like a flying chair and manipulated the climbing pieces into certain holds. Sometimes I couldn't be precise enough to drill in the holds while keeping myself aloft and ended up drilling individual pieces in instead.

Lily had walked in on me while I was working, and since I couldn't hear her over the sound of a drill and the fact that I was hovering about 20 meters above her head, and I was too focused on using my telekinesis that I had 'switched off' my telepathy to conserve energy, she had yelled at me with such a loud telepathy I had been thrown off my flying chair and once again plummeted to the floor.

I really needed to start building a jetpack, but I don't get the engineering in them. I'm more interested in flying with wings than looking like I'm part of Back to the Future.

Because of her little stunt, I had been forced into bed rest for the rest of the day by Mercy, who came in and listed out all the injuries I had. A few cracked ribs, two fractured legs, one arm which had fractured completely which was excruciatingly painful, and a concussion.

Yea, probably should have put safety mats, see if that helped any more.

Despite Mercy's plea for me stop doing such dangerous things and making her heal me, I continued my project. This time, I had been tempted to ask Ryan Lam or Martin for help, with their abilities to shift their body mass and volume, but decided against it. Didn't quite trust them fully, so I would take it into my own hands to finish it.