Chapter 2

Every step was a battle. The forest floor was a treacherous mess of roots and rotting leaves, and Alivia's three-hundred-pound frame crashed through it like a wounded rhino. Her lungs burned, her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, and sweat-thick, greasy, and foul-smelling-poured down her face.

She had to stop. Leaning against a massive oak, she gasped for air, her chest heaving. "This is pathetic," she muttered, wiping the grime from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Absolutely pathetic."

A high-pitched buzzing broke through her ragged breathing. A strange insect, its body a lurid green with a wicked-looking stinger, darted toward her face.

Instinct took over. Alivia raised her hand, commanding her bio-manipulation ability to strike, to crush the creature's nervous system.

A faint green glow flickered at her fingertips-then died. The energy was too weak, too thin. It couldn't even penetrate the air between them.

The insect buzzed closer.

"Damn it," Alivia growled, swatting at it with her thick arm. She crushed it against the tree trunk, leaving a smear of green ichor on the bark. She stared at the glowing slime on her hand, a grim realization settling in. Her power was garbage. Level 1 at best. It was barely enough to give someone a mild headache, let alone fight off the dangers of this world.

She needed to know exactly what it could do. Picking up a sharp stone, she sliced a shallow cut across her forearm. Blood welled up, bright red against the dirt-caked skin. She placed her glowing fingertip on the wound and pushed.

The healing was agonizingly slow. Cell by cell, the flesh knitted together. It took two full minutes for the cut to close, leaving only a faint white line. By the time it was done, Alivia felt lightheaded, her stomach cramping with a hunger so intense it felt like a punch to the gut.

The sound of rushing water reached her ears. It was a siren song to her dehydrated body. She pushed off the tree, fighting her way through thorny bushes that tore at her crude leather skirt, and stumbled toward the sound.

The stream was a ribbon of crystal-clear water cutting through the forest. Alivia fell to her knees at the edge, scooping up the cold water and splashing it over her face. The chill was a shock, washing away some of the cloying heat and grime.

She looked down.

The water stilled, becoming a mirror. And the face staring back at her made her stomach lurch.

It wasn't a face she recognized. It was a moon pie, bloated and yellow. Red, inflamed pimples covered her cheeks and forehead, and her features were squished into the center by slabs of fat. She opened her mouth in horror, revealing a set of crooked, yellowing teeth, some of them blackened at the roots.

Alivia jerked back, falling onto her butt in the mud. "Holy shit," she breathed. She had known she was ugly-the memories told her that-but seeing it, the sheer physical reality of it, was a gut punch.

For a moment, despair clawed at her throat. Then, she took a sharp breath. "Pity parties don't burn calories," she snapped at herself. "Get up."

She scrambled back to the water's edge. This time, she didn't look away. She studied the reflection with the cold, analytical eye of an agent assessing a target. Obesity. Hormonal imbalance. Severe malnutrition masked by excess fat. Poor hygiene. Dental deformity.

"Okay," she said, her voice flat. "It's a disaster zone. But it's mine."

She stood up, brushing the mud from her backside. The first rule of survival was health and hygiene. She couldn't fight, she couldn't run, but she could at least get clean. She scanned the banks, searching for privacy. A shallow cove, half-hidden by a tumble of rocks and thick vines, offered the perfect spot.

Alivia trudged toward it, her mind already racing. She would wash. She would survive. And then, she would figure out how to fix this mess.