“That brings up another interesting question,” Mouse stated. “Why visit Paramount? Given everything you said a minute ago, nothing your brother says is really reliable. He’s not a trustworthy source. ”
“It’s more than that,” I insisted. “Historically, Paramount and I weren’t close at all – he didn’t even know who I was. Even if he had known, he’s not anyone I would have hung out with – especially after he put together that little cadre of teen supervillains, like Daemon, Goon, Incendia…”
I trailed off as I suddenly felt something tickling at the back of my brain. It was a stray thought, roaming around like an annoying fly that you can’t quite lay eyes on but which keeps buzzing in your ear. After a few moments, however, it came into focus, making me recognize a connection where I hadn’t seen one before.
Mouse, as expected, was ten steps ahead of me and was already on his cell phone, addressing the issue.
*****
“Okay, it’s confirmed,” Mouse stated a few minutes later, hanging up his phone. “BT verified that, in addition to Incendia, several other members of Paramount’s prior clique of sinister teens have been grievously injured.”
“Was it the same guy?” I asked. “My evil twin?”
“Officially, no. There were three of them, and like Incendia, they were being held in nullifier cells. It appeared that there was some type of malfunction, and the equipment intended to subdue them in the event the nullifiers failed became active.”
“Okay, that’s the official story,” I uttered. “And unofficially?”
“Unofficially,” Mouse said, “with nothing showing up on any of the cameras that were in place, I think your double either became invisible or used telekinesis to do the same thing he did to Incendia. I assume he would have done something similar to Paramount but changed his mind for some reason.”
“Or maybe he figured he’s done enough damage,” I tossed in. “After all, he’s framed me pretty well now by going after people I arguably have a grudge against.”
“Except he’s only visible in the footage concerning Incendia,” Mouse countered. “If everything he’s done is some kind of set-up, why not appear as you every time he attacked someone instead of just that last assault?”
I considered his question for a moment. “You’re thinking maybe this isn’t simply a frame job.”
“What I’m thinking is that his actions don’t make sense if that’s his goal.”
“Hmmm,” I muttered, pondering. “Maybe he wasn’t ready.”
“What do you mean?” Mouse asked, looking perplexed.
“I mean, what if he hadn’t finished whatever process was necessary to make him look like me? If that were the case, he’d want to remain out of sight.”
“Now I understand,” Mouse said with a patronizing nod. “You’re still thinking his resemblance to you is some type of surgery or something.”
“Actually, it occurred to me this morning that maybe the guy has some kind of healing ability,” I clarified. It was a thought that had come to mind when I was wishing my new talent for healing others could take away Sarah’s heartache. “I know you said surgery usually leaves scars, but if he’s able to heal himself like a lot of supers can, then scarring wouldn’t be an issue.”
“If he could heal himself, I would expect any kind of graft to be rejected.”
Mouse’s statement caught me by surprise, prompting me to ask, “Why is that?”
“If a super who gets hurt has a healing ability, his body usually goes back to its form and condition before any injury was sustained. If he gets a cut, it heals. If an organ is damaged, it mends. Lose a leg, it regrows.”
I nodded in understanding. My own body had an exceptional ability to heal, so little of this was news to me (although thankfully, I hadn’t been forced to try to regrow any limbs thus far).
“However,” Mouse said, continuing, “if you try to transplant something – an organ, a limb, or even a face – to someone with that kind of healing talent, the body will reject it.”
“Wait a minute,” I interjected. “I thought there was always the risk of rejection with a transplant anyway.”
“There is, because a person’s immune system often recognizes transplanted material as being foreign – not an original part of the body – and attacks it. But in the situation we’re talking about, it’s less of a risk and more a certainty due to the fact that the body of our hypothetical super is already fixing whatever is wrong. If, say, his body is already regrowing a liver that got shot to pieces, it’s going to identify a transplanted liver as being of unknown origin – because he shouldn’t have two livers – and reject it.”
“So with the fake Jim,” I surmised, “a face transplant wouldn’t work because his body would say, ‘I’m already repairing this guy’s face and it’s going to be perfect when I’m done, so get your substandard transplant material out of here.’ Assuming he has a healing ability, that is.”
“In essence, yes,” Mouse concurred. “But it’s more than just that. Remember when we talked about molding the subcutaneous contours of his face to match yours? Those would start healing as well, going back to their previous shape.”
“In other words,” I concluded, “now that we’ve eliminated all other possible explanations for his appearance, I need to accept that this guy is most likely a shapeshifter and–”
I stopped as I abruptly sensed a wild flurry of panicked – almost crazed – emotions coming from nearby. I picked up feelings of dread and trepidation on a level that could almost be described as horror. And the source of it was heading in our direction like a jet.
Acting on instinct, I phased both myself and Mouse just as something seemed to strike
