Amy was a pancake. At least, that’s how she felt. Probably how she looked too. Snuggled beneath the bedsheet, she’d been seeking the reprieve of sleep for about twenty minutes. Sure, she could probably brute force her brain … or … whatever did the thinking these days, into sleeping. She’d done that before, back when she was human without question. A neat trick. Apparently, most people couldn’t do it. T̷h̵e̷n̶ ̸a̷g̷a̶i̵n̶,̵ ̶m̷o̶s̶t̴ ̵p̸e̸o̵p̶l̵e̴ ̶w̶e̴r̴e̷ ̶w̶e̷a̵k̴.̶ She thought they probably could, if they tried hard enough. However, brute forcing sleep wasn’t very relaxing. It was more like mentally walloping herself into a concussion than falling asleep. No … not that extreme. More akin to gently, firmly, holding a pillow over her own face until the sweet release of unconsciousness- okay, that wasn’t much less extreme, come to think of it. She didn’t wake up feeling rested after that. Just … kinda violated, really. The problem here was that she could relax. She could enjoy the comfort of her bed, even if it never quite felt the same as it had before. She just couldn’t do it the way she was humanly supposed to.

The issue was her new body. Well, it was more of an avatar, or a finger puppet on the pinkie of what was actually her body. Holding its shape was like flexing a muscle: an act of will. The first time she’d tried to sleep in this form, the weight of the bedsheet gradually squished her into a neon pink pancake. The fourth time, she relaxed enough to almost lose self-awareness. Her comfort reached the point where she felt as though surrounded by cotton … more like foam … and hard, cold, twirly things … Those were her first hints that something wasn’t quite right. She tried to get up. The mattress got up with her. Amy nearly shredded the bed and blew up half the building before realising she’d seeped into the mattress. It was kind of funny, but creepy. To think such a thing could happen. The seventh time, she achieved full relaxation, but it wasn’t what she expected. Her avatar had dissolved back into an aerosol, dispersing her mind throughout the building and its surroundings. She was conscious, but barely. It was like zoning out. Maybe that was the closest she’d ever get to sleep, but could she really trust her disembodied form to stay not dissipate or drift across the city? Would that kill her? It didn’t feel like it was killing her, but her heart remained set on sleeping the old-fashioned way.

Now, Amy was back to being a pancake. Oh, and syrup. The edges of her form were dripping off the sides of the bed, half aerosol, half liquid. It felt kind of nice, strangely enough. Her eyes were closed as she released a sigh, very shallowly thanks to her flattened facsimiles of lungs. Nonetheless, she was passively aware of everything in the room, every shape in the house. She was touching them, after all. Some shapes even tickled. Curtains shifted, open doors inched back and forth as she fidgeted restlessly. The house was a snug fit. A huge chunk of her was outside it as it was. Her aerosol body seemed to want to decompress as she rested, but Amy didn’t feel comfortable just letting it all spill out of the building as it pleased. It made her feel exposed and vulnerable, like sleeping in the middle of a road. Amy startled when a door hit a wall as she tossed and turned a little too hard. Alright, maybe it was time to get up and do something else. Amy was beginning to extract her pancake and syrup body from the bed before stopping.

Wait, what did she look like right now?

Amy spawned a new avatar over the bed. Air currents converged and sparked. Luminously rosy sinews congealed into a humanoid form garbed in a lenticular cloud dress. She stretched experimentally, testing the joints. It looked enough like her human self. Technically, she could make it look however she wanted, but her default form was like muscle memory. Her avatars never quite came out the same way, though. They were like sketches. From her height and general dimensions to the contours of her hair, little details would vary. Stylising her looks made things easier. She didn’t grow every strand of hair. Just thick, flaming clouds of curly locks that danced in the air like an electric blaze. For some reason, her hair was the brightest part of her body. Maybe it was because most of her consciousness was located up there. It sure felt that way, even after the change. She didn’t usually have feet. Her legs simply tapered into petite points. At first glance, the same could be said about her hands, but she had fingers, sort of. They were usually more like cute little claws that separated from her otherwise uniformed hand points when she wanted them, just like so- oh, WOW. Her right hand had been blessed with two thumbs this time! Why were hands so iffy?

Stolen story; please report.

She was getting distracted.

Amy dissolved and reconstituted the hand, fixing its botched up ‘programming’, so to speak. Floating down to the bed, she pulled the covers off of pancake Amy.

She stared and stared. “…… Pfffffft … heh … haha … HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAA!”

Pancake Amy was easily the most cartoonishly memable thing she’d seen all day. It was like a neon-coloured popsicle person’s misguided attempt at sunbathing had gone horribly wrong. The avatar had dyed itself deep into the bed, evaporating pink mist like dry ice as it dribbled its edges off the mattress. Eyes closed, mouth wide open in a liquified frown, the avatar was a living caricature of exhaustion.

“hOw I LoOk?”it asked with a weak, goopy smile.

She laughed all the harder. It laughed with her. The two avatars’ laughter created a self-sustaining feedback loop that she had to put some effort into reigning in.

“You’re beautiful!” Amy squeaked between giggles.

Its smile grew bigger. “tHeY tRiEd To PuT mE oN tHe CoVeR oF rOgUe …”

Another bout of laughter.

“Wait, hold that pose!” she instructed needlessly.

Amy reached for the phone. It flew into her hand. She paused. Sure, she was used to the pseudo-telekinesis that came with most of her mass being an airborne swarm. Nonetheless, it was just so easy … too easy. The A.M.E. was a monster, not a superpower. Taking over its body was miraculous enough. Getting it to work exactly the way she wanted was another matter. It wasn’t designed to fulfil her desires, yet it fit her like a glove.

She looked at Pancake Amy, who looked back. Pancake Amy had laughed with her, despite the flattened lungs. Technically, she was just laughing with herself. Both avatars were under her control, but how had she made it laugh without breath? It must have produced soundwaves some other way. If she hadn’t shown it how to do that, what did? Did it just … know?

Amy looked around at the rosy atmosphere that was her free-floating body, or the A.M.E.’s free-floating body, more specifically.

She clenched her little claws. A low snarl rose from her throat until it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The house shuddered with her rising wrath. Bolts of miniature lightning rent the air.

“What? Am I supposed to thank you for ripping my brain out of its skull?” Amy growled. “Are we supposed to be friends? No. I beat you. You took my life and I yanked it back. I took yours, and I hold it without regret. By all means, feel free to apologise, or otherwise prove me wrong. Maybe I misunderstand you. Maybe, once upon a time, we would have had a lot in common, but if that’s true, then I understand you perfectly. If that’s true, presently, I hate you with all my soul! I don’t know if you understand me, but maybe, one day, we can make up and ugly cry together. However, I see blood on your hands, and no tears in your eyes. If you choose to be a true monster … ̷̥̄͜I̶̪͆̊ ̴̲̇w̴͓͛͜i̸͕̍̃l̶͉̐l ̸͙̋s̶̠̓̽h̷̳̏̂ơ̸̤͓̈́w̷̙͕̄͛ y̵̰̐̇o̵̤̐̒u̶͂̋ͅ ̶̀ͅt̷̙͙͆͒ha̴̋͜͝t̸͆́͜ ̴̤͈͝w̴̭͂̐h̸̀͜ị̷̛̯̑c̵̱̃h̶̩͛̇͜ ̴͙͝m̷̛̟͎on̵͓̈́͜s̷̙͋͒te̵͈̔r̶̭̈͊s FẺ̴̱͓̮̀͊A̴̙̟̔R̸̞͇̀͠.̴̮̀͋͜

Was something burning? She felt it in the air before she could smell it. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t perfectly comfortable either. She felt to … consume the fire? What on Earth? Why did all roads lead to feeding when it came to this A.M.E.?

Amy turned to see flames gnawing away at the carpet, and the curtains … aaaaaand the bed sheets. She’d failed to notice when some stray lightning bolts managed to ignite them, far less when the sky beyond the window lit up several blocks away. Her miniature lightning storm had been the perfect smokescreen for what transpired outside.

With a huff, Amy gave a small, sweeping gesture. The fires snuffed out as waves of her aerosol rippled across the burning surfaces, consuming the energy from their combustion process. That certainly was a new ‘taste’, metaphorically speaking. Part of her was miffed that these fires just had to start right at the end of her speech. Did the A.M.E. do this on purpose? Perhaps not, but if it was trying to undermine her, she’d back up her words with actions if the time came.

She looked at Pancake Amy, who had been patiently laying there while giving her moral support through little grunts and expressions of agreement.

Amy shrugged. Enough with the heavy stuff. Time to get that photo of her pancake persona!