The area outside the cell is still dark when I jolt awake some time later, and I realize I have no idea how much time has passed. There’s no natural light down here, and not even a clock, so I could have been asleep for anywhere between minutes or days. Okay, that’s probably a lot less likely. And the stiffness in my neck probably means it’s been longer than just a few minutes. As I’m shaking out my limbs, I realize something.

These cuffs on my wrists and ankles are power-suppressing, not power-canceling.

Sure, I no longer have gecko eyes, cat ears, or a tail, but I’m also not totally un-transformed. I’ve still got tits, long hair, and a not-quite-hourglass figure. And the important part… I think, quickly and subtly adjusting my thighs. Thank God. But my examination is interrupted by a voice coming from seemingly nowhere.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” it says, and I instantly recognize it. Aurora’s minion or underling or whatever, fuck what’s the word… “I’m making a smoothie, want one?”

This couldn’t be a more obvious trap if she tried, I think, but I can’t stop myself from asking “What’s in it?”

“Strawberries, bananas, greek yogurt, and milk,” she rattles off, and as if on cue, my stomach growls. Since I have no idea what time it is, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve eaten, but evidently it’s been a while.

“Sure, I guess,” I agree, though I’m still wary. Not that I’m expecting a high profile hero like Aurora to poison me, but drugging me with truth serum or something like that? Definitely possible. Not that I have any experience with something like that, much less be aware enough to detect it.

“Mmkay, I’ll be down with it in a few minutes,” the minion says, and then the speakers go quiet. Did she sound like she was smiling for a second there? Whatever. In the silence, I resume giving myself a once-over. It doesn’t look like I’ve gained any height, although the cups of my bra do feel a little loose so I wouldn’t be surprised if there were other changes. Like my hair is a lot closer to my usual light brown than the black I specifically had last night, but that’s a more aesthetic change, compared to a structural change.

It all depends on how long Aurora waited before putting the cuffs on me. I’ve spent years trying to get my body to keep a specific shape while asleep, but I’ve found it fluctuates throughout the night. Explains the headache though, if my body’s been trying to shift back to default but the cuffs haven’t been letting it. The reason it feels like I’ve been using my powers for too long is because I’ve been using my powers for too long. Oh god, if they’re gonna keep me here all 48 hours, that headache is gonna get a lot worse.

“How’d you sleep?” the minion asks as she comes through the doors, carrying a tray of something I can’t see in the dark before setting it down next to her keyboard and turning on the lights. Once the area’s illuminated, I can tell there’s two plastic travel mugs on the tray, one filled with a pale pink puree while the other looks more purple-ish.

“Badly,” I say, “but before you give me that, I have a couple questions.”

“Shoot,” she tells me. “But before you ask, no I didn’t roofy your smoothie. I can’t talk to you if you’re unconscious.”

“...three questions,” I amend. “One, what time is it?”

“A little after 8:45 am Saturday morning; we can hold you for about 38 more hours.”

“B, can I get some ibuprofen or something? My head is killing me.”

“Hmm, still?” she muses, scanning her desk, “That’s surprising, it should have subsided a while ago.” So it’s normal for people to have headaches after Aurora knocks them out? “But yeah, I can find you some in a bit.”

“I suppose I can live with that,” I mutter. Not that I have much choice… “Finally, you said you didn’t roofy the drink, but how do I know there’s not some kind of truth serum or something in there?” She chuckles and shakes her head, but that only concerns me more.

“There’s not. Swear on my life,” she says, “I don’t even know that we have any, and frankly? Aurora doesn’t think you’re worth it, and I’m inclined to agree.” That catches my attention. I’m glad I can fly so low under the radar, but then what’s the point of all this? “You said it yourself last night; you’re not violent, your biggest crimes are a few robberies, you have no apparent aspirations for power or destruction, you’re a minor villain at best.”

“Not a villain,” I point out, “breaking the law doesn’t make me a villain, I’d argue those aspirations are what separate criminals like me from actual villains. Like full disclosure, I know what I do is ‘wrong’, at least in the eyes of the law, and I wouldn’t want kids to follow in my footsteps, but there are paths they can take that are a Lot Worse.”

“A surprisingly nuanced and poignant opinion,” the minion says. “I’m going to send you to the back wall now, be careful to watch your head.” Can’t say I don’t appreciate the heads-up, I think as I’m dragged backwards by my own limbs. I’m able to keep my head forward such that when my back hits the wall it’s a shock, but it doesn’t make my headache any worse. I watch as she hits a couple buttons and the wall opposite me disappears, making me struggle against my bonds; an opportunity to escape, and I can’t do shit about it.

She smirks at me as she picks up the pink travel mug and leisurely strolls with it into my cell, where she sets it down near the center and walks back out. She takes a second to get comfy before reactivating the wall, and another after that before she decides to turn off the magnets in my cuffs.

“Why’s yours a different color than mine?” I ask, gesturing between the two cups.

“There’s blueberries in mine,” she smiles before taking a sip. “I forgot we had them until after I’d already made yours, sorry.”

“No worries…” I mumble. I’m not entirely convinced, but it is a reasonable explanation. I do prefer strawberries, but this whole ‘offering me a drink’ thing is suspicious as hell. “So like, who are you?” I ask, picking up the cup but not drinking from it yet, “To Aurora, I mean? Are you her… sidekick, that’s the word.”

“Me? A sidekick? Oh, God no,” she laughs, “I don’t even go out in the field! No, I’m just her housekeeper.” A maid? Aurora has a fucking maid? Things are getting stranger by the minute.

“So you’re Alfred,” I point out, trying to ignore how my stomach growls again. “You’re Alfred to her Batman.” Even if it’s drugged, the smoothie is starting to look very tasty.

“Hah, I guess so,” she chuckles, “except Batman doesn’t have powers, and she does.” A fair point, but my comparison still stands. We fall into an uneasy silence after that, but just before I cave and grab the smoothie, she pipes up with a question. “By the way, did you mean what you said last night? About telling me your name if I tell you mine?”

The question catches me by surprise. Did I really say that last night? It certainly sounds like something I would say, but if I did, did I actually mean it? Given how long I’d “known” her last night, probably not, but she doesn’t need to know that. Didn’t Aurora say if I cooperated they’d delay handing me over to the police as long as they could? That’d certainly be nice, but what would be even nicer is if they let me go after the 48 hours are up. Could be a ‘one step back, two steps forward’ situation, though. Tell her my real name to build trust and good will. But if I tell her my name, she looks it up and there’s no records anywhere (there won’t be), that’ll just be two steps back with no steps forward.

“Y’know what, Maidgirl? Sure,” I say, mildly proud of the nickname. Shame no one else will ever hear it. “You tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine. You go first.”

“Alright,” she responds readily, and I’m shocked at how easily she’s going along with it. “I suppose that makes sense. I’m Amanda.” I take a sip of my smoothie (it’s actually pretty good) and wait, but when she offers no more information, I raise an eyebrow.

“No last name? Even I have one.”

“It’s… complicated,” she sighs, “maybe I’ll tell you after I get your name and verify your identity. Maybe.” Ah fuck. Guess I’ll never find that out.

“Fine, then,” I huff, taking another swig of smoothie. “Melanie Calahan. M-e-l-a-n-i-e C-a-l-a-h-a-n.” I list off, staring at the ceiling as she types it out. I already know what she’s gonna find, so there’s no reason to watch her reaction. No record of a Melanie Calahan ever in the history of Sound City; births, deaths, marriage certificates, legal name changes. It’s never been officially–

*ding!*

“Finally, a real person’s name!” Amanda smirks, and I look at her with a furrowed brow. The fuck? My parents never knew my name, not that they would’ve filed a report anyway. I never told the cops my new surname when they arrested me. Oh god, did I accidentally commit identity theft? “Aaaaaaaand she was born three days ago. You look a bit older than that,” she says, swiveling to fix me with a disapproving glare. “So. What’s your actual name, then?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, that is my actual name,” I respond. I almost say “Picked it out myself and everything,” but I catch myself at the last second. That’d be giving a bit too much away. “Maybe your records just aren’t thorough enough…”

“Oh bull-shit,” Amanda retorts, “Aurora’s got more thorough records than any hero or police department this side of the country. There’s only one Melanie Calahan in the greater Sound City area, and she’s still at General Mercy Hospital!”

“Well there’s your problem,” I point out, taking another sip of smoothie. “How do you know I’m from Sound City? And speaking of Aurora, where is the ray of sunshine? She sleeping in?” I actually am from Sound City, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“The opposite, actually. There’s some jackass with a freeze ray making a mess downtown, she got called in to handle that.” I don’t have a response to that, and we fall into another uneasy silence.

My head still hurts, but the smoothie at least seems to be helping. Wouldn’t terribly surprise me if I was more than a bit dehydrated, and I was definitely hungry… Maybe I don’t need the painkillers, but they’d still help. Ugh, when was the last time I let go of all my shifting? Probably sometime Thursday night at the latest, but judging by the severity of this headache, it was probably actually Wednesday night. Or earlier. God, why did I have to be born like that? Life would have been, would be so much easier if I’d just been born–

“Are you sure that’s your name?” Amanda asks, and I glare at her over the lid of my smoothie.

“Uh, yeah? Pretty sure I know my own name. I’ve only been using it for years.”

“How many years?” she asks, and the smirk on her face immediately makes me suspicious.

“I’m not telling you how old I am,” I say simply. How long I’ve been using this name doesn’t equal how long I’ve been alive, but she doesn’t need to know that. If I told her, she’d just want to know that name and there’s no way I’m tying it to me. It’s not who I am. Never was, never will be.

“Why not? Seems like a simple enough question, no hidden tricks,” she responds, but the smile doesn’t leave her face. So clearly, she wants to try something.

“Because you don’t think my name is actually Melanie,” I take another drink of smoothie, “so if you can get the year I was born, you can get the most popular baby names of that year and use that to brute-force search for any that might be me. OR, you’re gonna check birth records for the year and look at ANY Calahan, in case Melanie is actually a nickname or something like that.” I sit back once I’m done speaking, both proud of my off-the-cuff theorizing and trying to ignore the thought that I just gave her ideas if she hadn’t already thought of them.

“…Wow,” Amanda says, “you’re smarter than I gave you credit for. And you seem to have experience with the law, which makes it even stranger that there’s no record of you under any name other than Catnip.”

“The world sure works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?”

“It sure does,” she sighs, before bolting upright and slamming a hand on the desk. “Ah! Let me grab some painkillers for you, before I forget.” She pushes away from her desk and stands before walking over to a metal cabinet up against the wall. I can’t see inside from this vantage point, but I can hear her rummaging through boxes and plastic bottles looking for something. When she finally emerges, she’s holding a white bottle with a dark blue lid. “Lucky you, these haven’t been opened,” she points out, closing the cabinet doors. “Still got the tamper-proof seal and everything.”

“I– …thanks, I guess?” I say, not entirely comprehending this turn of events. I thought I’d have to fight to get those pills. But she’s giving me them of her own free will. “Why are you being so nice to me today?”

“Good cop,” she shrugs, “trying to build trust between us. Magnetizing you to the back wall, brace yourself.” She presses a few keys and my wrists stick to the wall I’m already sitting against, then the wall in front of me disappears once again. “So even if you don’t trust Aurora for whatever reason, maybe you think she’s too much like a cop or whatever, I want you to feel like you can trust me.”

“No, I don’t think that’s quite it,” I say as she enters my cell. “‘Good Cop’ would be like, ‘This’ll be a lot easier if you just work with us, I’ll even get you a smoothie if you do’, with a sickly sweet smile, not ‘Here’s a smoothie, by the way what’s your name?” She chuckles at the comparison as she sets down the pill bottle, and I continue as she returns to her desk. “This is buying a girl at the bar a drink and asking if she comes here often, that’s what you’re doing. No, there’s something more behind the nicety.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she shrugs as she sits back down. “Maybe I’ve been in your shoes and I’m showing you the kindness I wish someone had shown me; or maybe I just think you’re cute and am trying to butter you up so you won't hold the whole 'keeping you in a cell' thing against me. You’ll never know.” The wall of the cell reappears and I can move my arms again, so I instantly reach out to grab the bottle of pills.

I neither want nor know how  to respond to her last hypothetical, so I busy myself with the painkillers. I’m sure there’s a blush on my face (A pretty girl called me cute!), but I don’t want her to see that so I turn and keep my head down.

They’re not my usual brand of painkillers, so I turn the bottle over and check the dosage instructions (two pills every 4 to 6 hours, max. 8 per day). I can live with that… Probably. Satisfied I know what to do, I unscrew the lid and get to work on the silver plastic covering the opening. I wish I had a claw right now. As I’m struggling to tear through, something occurs to me.

“Do you think my metabolism is at a normal level for a human right now?” I ask, and Amanda’s eyes widen.

“I– I would assume so, at least whatever is normal for you when you’re not shifted,” she says. “Aurora waited for your animal features to fade before she put the cuffs on, so you should just be a normal human right now. Why, is some part of you still shifted?”

“I mean, some of my shifting isn’t visible on the outside of my body,” I tell her. “Like, I’ve been bitten by… a venomous snake, and I just flood that body part with mongoose DNA to deal with the venom.” Whoops, almost said too much about that. “Whatever. Point is, eyes aren’t everything. I don’t feel like anything’s different, but you seem like you’d have more insight on whether or not these painkillers might kill me or something.”

“Nah, I think you’re fine. Although, I’m no medical professional or anything of the sort,” she warns, but I just shrug and shake a couple pills into my hand. It’ll probably be fine. Right?

The pills themselves are nothing special; thick, little white disks with the brand name imprinted on one side and a thin line separating what seem like random letters and numbers (they’re probably not) on the other. I don’t spend more than a second studying them before knocking them back, grimacing at their bitter taste. I don’t even bother replacing the lid when I set the bottle down, instead reaching for my smoothie to wash them down. No sooner have I gulped it down than there’s a pinging noise from outside my cell, and I watch questioningly as Amanda pulls a cell phone out of her skirt pocket.

“Shoot,” she says, reading the screen, “I’m needed upstairs. I would say ‘stay there’, but I don’t think you have much of a choice,” she giggles. “I’ll try to keep an eye on the camera feeds from down here while I’m up there, so just… holler if you need anything, I guess.” With that, she moves to leave, but before I know what I’m doing, I call out to stop her.

“Wait!” I say, though I lose confidence as she turns around. “You’re just… leaving me down here? With a smoothie in a plastic travel mug and a bottle of painkillers? Are you not worried I’ll try to kill myself or something?”

“Not really, no,” she says as she grabs her smoothie. “You don’t seem like someone who would kill herself. Why, are you complaining that I’m leaving those in there with you?” She raises an eyebrow in a challenging smirk.

“No, no,” I scoff, “Just… surprised, I guess. Cops would never be this nice.”

“Of course not,” she responds, turning back around. “Make all the comparisons you want, we’re not cops.”