The next morning, the kitchen was a flurry of motion. The room itself seemed to pulse with rhythm as Christopher spun from stove to coffee maker to fridge and back again, preparing a startling amount of food for breakfast, all while grooving to the beat of Oye Como Va, Santana’s version. Every so often Benji would call out a word of encouragement from his seat in the peanut gallery, enjoying the rhythm of the sounds and smells issuing forth from the open plan kitchen.

They had stayed up late into the night discussing the events of the past week, and all the possible implications thereof. Around midnight, Max had plodded down from the bedroom in search of his other half, and they had brought him up to speed. He took the revelation with his usual grace, which is to say, stoic silence and thoughtful grunts at the appropriate times.

Ben had grilled his new, old friend relentlessly, with the occasional clarifying question from Max, and he answered as best he could. He left nothing out. After all, if he couldn’t trust his best friends in the world, what would be the point? Occasionally, they would pose a question that Chris didn’t know the answer to, and he would ask Sarah for clarification, but her answers gave them no information that they didn’t already have. They traded words like that, under the yellow cast of the lights from the kitchen, until roughly three in the morning, when they physically couldn’t continue any farther. They had agreed to pick up the discussion again the next morning, when they were fresh.

It was currently around ten, and the light of the sun was beginning to drip through the slits in the shades, warming the house and bathing Ben in an otherworldly glow. Chris and he had been up and about for nearly an hour, he because he had trouble sleeping past 9, no matter how little sleep that ended up being. As a result, he was draped over the entire loveseat, feeling like he was thinking through treacle from lack of sleep. Chris suffered no such trouble, because he apparently needed less sleep now. Lucky bastard. Really though, it was a beautiful thing to see him so happy. Max was still insensate, a night owl to the end. He wouldn’t rouse until someone intervened.

If the theory that sleep is a mechanism to flush neurochemicals from your brain and process new information is correct, mused Ben, does he do that more efficiently now? Does his brain need less maintenance, or does the maintenance just happen more quickly? He brought that question up to Chris, over the din of sizzling food.

“We agreed that we’d wait for the others, Benji. Be patient.” Chris replied absentmindedly, trying to remember if you were supposed to add nuts and other various accoutrements straight to the pancake batter, or put them on top when they were cooking. “They’ll be here soon enough.”

They had in fact, agreed to this, but Benjamin was not a patient man. Last night, when the discussion had started to move in circles, Max had suggested that they needed a fresh perspective, and offered to call an emergency council of the Rogues Gallery. And this, all three in their separate ways, was what the roommates were preparing for.

The first bounding through the door was a small girl in baggy, shapeless clothing. This was Kristina, a creature borne of mischief and misfortune. Chaos fell from her like sparks from a grindstone, igniting all in her wake. She bore a thoughtful expression in the quiet moments, a pinched expression in the loud ones, and she always looked like she knew something you didn’t. She made a beeline for the kitchen as soon as she was through the door and playfully shadowboxed with Chris for a moment before pouring herself a cup of coffee, cream and sugar, before leaning up against the wall to watch him cook.

The second, less than a minute after the first was Kristina’s roommate, Marian Yanova. Nova to her friends, Boss to her best friends, and Marian if you wanted to tick her off. Her high cheekbones and brow lent themselves to a face that could be best described as aristocratic, and gave all her expressions an imperious cast. As she strode past the threshold, Ben leapt to his feet and clicked his heels together, saluting with all the alacrity he could muster. Which wasn’t much, come to think of it. He more oozed to his feet than leapt. He was tired, cut him some slack.

She fixed him with an icy glare, underneath which lurked a smirk, and said “At ease, soldier”, before sweeping past him into the room and collapsing down on the recliner, the only single occupancy seating in the living room.

The last through the door a few minutes later was Juliette, drifting as if on the wind. She glided through the doorway and stood in the center of the room. She appeared to be choosing where to sit, weighing her options for a few seconds before settling down where she always did, on the right side of the ripped brown couch. She wore her usual dreamy expression, and more literally, a black tank top and pants, with her curly blonde hair in a loose ponytail down her back.

None of these new arrivals knocked on the door before entering, nor did they need to, as the door was unlocked. However, even if it was, they would have just used the spare key buried in the corner of the disused flowerbed. This house was as much a home to them as any they had ever had, and who knocks for admittance to their home?

These three, and the three here before are who make up the Rogues Gallery. The six had been assigned to a group project in freshman year chemistry by chance, and had been inseparable ever since. They each had other friends, and none of them were even in the same major anymore, but they were still as close as any six people can reasonably be. When Ben wandered upstairs with a cup of coffee, and wandered back down with a partner, their council was complete.

Nova started the discussion with her usual tact.

“Chris, are you thinner?”

Chris looked out at the assembled council through the window in the kitchen wall, and then looked down at himself.

“Huh. Maybe, I’ll go check. Come get food, guys. I made everything in the fridge that can be considered breakfast by any reasonable standard.”

He ducked into the bathroom and looked himself up and down in the mirror, and what do you know, he did appear to be thinner. His muscle tone was slightly more prominent all over, and the curves in his waist and thighs were smoothing out. Even his face appeared to be slimming down, with his bone structure becoming more prominent. When he stepped on the scale, he found himself to be down 5 pounds, which seemed low judging by the visual changes. Was his body composition changing that quickly?

He stepped out of the bathroom to find everyone back in their places, each snacking on something or other.

“You’re right, boss. Down 5 pounds.”

He plopped down in his usual spot on the left side of the ripped brown couch, with Tina between him and Juliette. Max and Benji sat shoulder to shoulder on the loveseat, and Nova sat perched forward on the recliner like a bird of prey. Why she always chose the recliner, but never reclined it, Chris had no idea. It seemed like a bit of a waste to him.

“Did your uncle not have food up at his cabin? Have you been starving for a week? And why does the house smell better?” Nova had always had the ability to cut to the quick of the matter. She took charge of anything when possible, especially conversations.

Tina ran her hand up Chris’s side, as if to verify his new figure, and he relaxed back into her and the couch. She made a surprised noise, because she did seem to feel new muscle, and settled into the gap between Chris and Juliette’s shoulders. The girl didn’t seem to have any physical boundaries, never did, and while this had caused a good deal of confusion in the past, the Rogues were long used to it.

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story…”

****

“What do we tell people if they notice that you’re different?”

Juliette interjected, cutting off a good deal of ribbing that Chris had been spending the last day leveling his Cleaning skill. She had been silent for most of the conversation, and for the past few minutes, she had been staring off into the middle distance, trying to work through one specific part of the information given.

“New depression meds.” Chris replied to her absently. They had worked this out last night.

Ben chuckled. “They’ll feel so bad for asking that they’ll avoid the subject forever.”

“Oh yeah! Do you not need to take meds anymore?” Tina piped up from her place curled up at the side of our subject.

“Don’t think so” he replied. “My head has been clear ever since I woke up two days ago.”

“I’ve gotta get me some of that.” She grumbled, and curled up into a tighter ball. He swatted her head to distract her, and she shot him a dirty look.

Wait a minute. The room froze as every occupant seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same moment, and all turned to look into the hazel eyes of one of the first subjects of the system on earth.

“Hold on.” He said, and his eyes took on a faraway cast as he addressed the voice in his head. The room was silent, except for the sound of one of Chopin’s nocturnes issuing from a Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen. It was a far cry from Santana, but Chris’s playlists always featured odd genre shifts. It was why he was only allowed to pick the music if he was cooking.

“Sarah? When can my friends be integrated into the system?”

There is a reason I began with five, Chris. I need to assess how well you adapt, and modify the system to fit your species.

“Don’t act like this is an imposition. You intend to integrate the entire planet. What difference do five humans make?”

Sarah sounded the same as ever, but Chris could feel the mirth radiating from her presence in his mind. He got the sense that this was somehow… cute, to her. Like a pet laboratory mouse asking for a treat, then throwing a tantrum when he didn’t get one.

Very well, Christopher. In as few as two months, or as many as six, you may integrate your friends into the system.

He knew that she was baiting him, but he couldn’t help asking. “Why that timeframe?”

It depends on how much data you and your compatriots provide. The more you progress, the more data I receive, and the quicker I will be willing to introduce more test subjects.

His eyes refocused, and he addressed the room of expectant Rogues.

“Six months, at most. It depends on how quickly she can collect data.”

At this, all the Rogues were lost in thought, thinking about the possibilities, and all looked excited except one. Max’s face became drawn, as he considered the worst.

“Six months. Big head start. You said we can’t know about the other four?”

Ben shook his head excitedly. “You can’t let separate trials interact with each other! It would spoil the data!”

Max grunted. “See what our boy looks like after a week? Imagine what they’ll be capable of in six months. Let’s hope the random selection didn’t find anyone nasty.”

The room erupted in muttering as everyone felt a chill creep up their spines. Then, they immediately fell silent and expectantly looked up at their de facto leader, who had just stood from her recliner, empty coffee mug and bowl of breakfast scramble in hand. She grinned a grin of longing and hunger, of resolve and anticipation. None of the Rogues had ever seen the grin of a wolf on the hunt, but as they all shuddered involuntarily, they thought that it might look rather like that.

“It doesn’t matter. No matter who got picked, we’ll be ready.”

And as she walked to the kitchen, they all felt a good bit better.