My Only Familiar Is Me[A Late-Blooming Evolution Story]

“What do you think?” Maggie tilted her head slightly and ran her fingers through the curls of her newly styled hair. “Does it suit me?”

I sat in the deep armchair in our living room, my head resting against the soft back, and watched with detached professional interest as my own mother sought an expert opinion on her new image. Just like the good old days, except the girl standing in front of the mirror looked barely over twenty.

“I’ll be honest: it’s an unusual look,” I said after a thorough, critical inspection. “Your youthful face creates a pretty striking contrast with platinum hair. It doesn’t look bad, but it definitely takes some getting used to.”

I paused to assess the overall look.

“Still, I like it a lot more than the old one. Gray subconsciously suggests wisdom and composure. Your previous color, though, pink, practically screamed childishness.”

“Young people are supposed to experiment,” she shot back, critically studying her reflection from different angles. “And a second youth is the perfect chance to make up for all the things you didn’t have the nerve to do the first time around.”

“You’re already talking like a wise woman.” I allowed myself a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “What’s your own verdict? Do you like the result?”

“I love it!” Maggie turned toward me and gave me a warm, genuine smile. “Honestly, I was getting tired of playing the eternal teenager. I want people to finally take me seriously instead of seeing me as some naive little girl. Especially after that mess at the gym.”

I nodded silently. There was no need to say anything else. I understood her feelings far better than she could have imagined. The whole scene was still vivid in my mind. A bunch of ordinary, dim-witted guys had barged into the gym, started throwing their weight around, and demanded that we give up the equipment we had paid for simply because they didn’t feel like waiting their turn. When they ran into me, a big, calm man with a heavy stare, their bravado immediately collapsed into nervous yapping, and they went looking for an easier target. But the moment they spotted a girl with bright pink hair, a firm no was no longer enough. They decided they could use intimidation without consequences.

We dealt with the incident quickly, without unnecessary noise, bloodshed, or a call to the police. The club management apologized profusely afterward and even gave us a basket of sports nutrition products and assorted delicacies. Officially, the matter was settled. But somewhere deep down, I still regretted not getting the chance to put a couple of hard, sobering hooks into the smug bastard who had laid his hands on my mother.

“You really don’t want to put a couple more points into your stats?” I met her gaze. “High Strength solves problems with bullies a hell of a lot more effectively than arguments ever could.”

“Not a chance! I’m not turning myself into some wild Amazon.” Maggie bent her arm with playful stubbornness, showing off the neat, graceful definition of her biceps. “I like my body the way it is. And I’m not about to work myself into the shape of some muscle-bound baboon because of a couple of assholes. I found a simpler solution: I ordered glasses with plain lenses. Put them on, and I instantly look about five years older and much more serious.”

“Now that’s an excellent idea.”

“Seriously?” Her pupils widened slightly in surprise. “So just a visual accessory? No practical purpose? Tom, is that really you? You’re the one who’s always preaching absolute functionality.”

“I’m just used to seeing you in glasses,” I said evenly, but with complete sincerity. “With them, it’s much easier for me to see you as my mother instead of a third cousin who suddenly dropped out of nowhere.”

“You could’ve told me that sooner!” Maggie planted her hands on her hips, though her eyes were dancing with amusement. “You always keep everything to yourself and wait until the very last second to say anything!”

“Let me remind you, you were the one who said you wanted to completely reinvent your image and leave your old look behind.” I calmly steepled my fingers. “While you had that pink explosion on your head, there was no point in bringing up anything like that.”

“I’m always open to a conversation... Fine, forget it. You’re right.” She let out a heavy sigh, lowered her shoulders, and immediately switched to a more businesslike tone. “Let’s get down to business. Next time some asshole puts his hands on me, I want to be able to fold him into a pretzel without your help!”

“Try a backflip. Right here,” I ordered.

Maggie didn’t ask any unnecessary questions. The former old woman pushed off the floor effortlessly, moving with the grace of a trained gymnast as she traced a perfect arc through the air and landed softly on the carpet.

“Excellent. Your current metrics, sitting comfortably around seven, are more than enough for basic acrobatics,” I concluded, watching her breathing. “That means we can get the most out of your martial arts potential. The main thing I learned from my own experience is that your physical foundation and connective tissue are the foundation of everything. Without exceptional flexibility and explosive muscular power, even the most sophisticated techniques are nothing more than impressive but useless movements.”

“Thanks for the introductory lesson, Sensei.” She playfully pressed her fist into her palm and gave a short bow. “So where are we holding our training camp? Did you already rent a dojo? Should I run out and buy a white gi?”

“There’s no need for that. We operate outside the standard framework, so our training methods will be unconventional as well.” I narrowed my eyes slightly. “Everything will happen right here. In autonomous mode.”

“Your hyperfocus again?” Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a suspicious look. “Tom, are you sure I don’t need a live sparring partner, a protective helmet, and padded mats?”

“Mats and instructors are for beginners and civilians.” I shook my head. “My ‘server’ already has all the necessary biomechanics programmed in. Your job is simply to run it through your nervous system and drill it into your muscle memory until it becomes an automatic response. Your body needs to react to a threat faster than you have time to think.”

“Well... you’re the expert.” She nodded, though there was still a hint of skepticism in her eyes. “But I’m warning you right now: if any of your weird tricks break even one cup in this house, you’re losing internet and computer privileges for a month.”

“I won’t have to worry about protecting the furniture,” I replied calmly. “You’ll take care of that yourself.”

[Special Command: Maggie, practice all jiu-jitsu and nonlethal Krav Maga techniques independently until they become automatic. Move any furniture in the living room that could interfere with your movements.]

The mental impulse went out instantly. At the same moment, Maggie’s eyes went glassy, all human emotion draining from her expression, and she headed straight for my armchair with mechanical precision.

I had to get up quickly to avoid being buried beneath the furniture. With an effortless motion, she picked up the massive armchair and carried it all the way to the window, clearing a wide area for her movements. I started to move in to help, but immediately stopped myself. In hyperfocus mode, her brain was calculating the ergonomics of the space far more precisely than I ever could from the outside.

I had deliberately included a basic Krav Maga course in the jiu-jitsu training package. Nothing excessively brutal or any specialized lethal combinations, but with a strong emphasis on quickly neutralizing an opponent. Street situations varied. Soft, fluid control techniques did not always work when you needed to shut down a pumped-up aggressor in a split second and create some distance.

A few minutes later, Maggie had completely cleared a rectangular patch of floor in the middle of the room. Her face had become a perfectly still, expressionless mask. With clinical precision, she began practicing strikes against empty air. The invisible opponent in front of her took sharp, precise jabs to the throat before being sent flying hard over her hip.

I stood by the wall, watching her work with pure professional satisfaction. No unnecessary windups, no wasted motion, perfect rhythm, not even a hint of labored breathing. The evolution of her body had radically expanded her physiological limits. By my calculations, she could keep working at this pace for roughly twenty hours without a break. Under these conditions, it would take only three autonomous sessions to permanently engrave two complex combat profiles into her muscle memory. Later, I would have to show her recordings of actual fights and competitions, purely as a visual reference, so her brain could establish a clear connection with what her body was now capable of.

I left Maggie to drill the combinations and returned to my room. The range of my ability comfortably covered the entire apartment, so the presence effect remained stable. It was time to deal with the letter from the ministry.

There was still a full twenty-four hours before the deadline, after which the system would activate automatic assignment. That was more than enough time, especially since I was used to typing quickly. But leaving everything until the last hour was a lousy habit. First, my old accounting training demanded that I finish tasks ahead of schedule. Second, there was a substantial amount of work ahead of me: I needed to prepare and cleanly format eight separate application packages.

I opened a blank Word document and began filling out the standard application template.

First on the list was the Department of Awakened Homeland Security. Yes, ordinary office routine, exactly the kind of thing Mom had been trying to protect me from by pointing out that, with my current build, I looked like an elephant in a china shop standing beside an office printer. It was hard to argue with her logic, but this department had one major advantage: General Crowley was directly in charge of it. His position in the current power structure was extremely interesting to me. In the Experience section, I laid out my accounting background and attached scans of my diploma.

Second was the Federal Bureau of Awakening. Another extremely useful organization. Hawk had already demonstrated that FBA agents had access to the personal files of every registered Awakened. That level of clearance was far too valuable to pass up. In my cover letter, I explained in detail exactly how my hyperfocus mode optimized analytical work and could accelerate the resolution of complex cases.

Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. I decided to throw my lot in with the academics and laboratories after all. Even though Selina, as a senior specialist there, could probably secure almost any resource I needed, having official employee status would not hurt. In the Competencies section, I dryly listed expert-level proficiency in several relevant disciplines. It was a complete lie, but only a temporary one. At my current rate of information absorption, learning and digesting an entire nuclear physics curriculum was a matter of a couple of days at the computer.

Federal Emergency Management Agency - Portal. As an ordinary cleanup worker handling portal concealment, I did not see much direct benefit. But I had plenty of time, and participating in operations translated directly into accelerated service credit and career advancement.

Federal Emergency Management Agency Awakened. The local “superheroes.” The obvious benefits were publicity and fame, both of which left me cold. But once again, having the right status marker in the Corps personnel file would pay off in the long run. Here, I based my presentation on Danny’s phrasing: an ordinary, reliable guy without any grandstanding, who quietly showed up for his shift and did his job.

National S-Power Assessment Agency. Pure analytics. And once again, the calculation was pragmatic: minimal risk with maximum potential for accelerated promotion.

Awakened Training Officers Corps. One of the few places where I submitted an application out of genuine professional interest. My Trainer ability was practically tailor-made for this job. I could push green cadets to their physical limits in the shortest possible time, turning them into trained combat units that would not stupidly die in their first portal simply because they lacked basic endurance.

Rounding out the list was Portal Evaluation and Assessment Regiment. Reconnaissance. Leon had managed to get his foot in the door after all. With my stats and hyperfocus, initial portal expeditions would be several times faster and safer. I had no intention of crawling into every bottomless hole that opened up, but clearing two or three portals a year seemed like a perfectly reasonable compromise. Besides, reconnaissance units always had the best specialized training courses and access to restricted equipment.

I deliberately ignored only two organizations: Portal Special Weapons and Tactics and The Border Wardens.

The former was standard cannon fodder and line infantry. I was going to be mobilized several times a year anyway under the general system, so why voluntarily chain myself to regular line service? The latter was pure espionage and deep-cover work. Maybe the career ladder moved even faster there, but I had a hard internal stop when it came to that kind of work. I was willing to check dreary financial ledgers, sort through archived files, and sit over reports for the sake of service credit. But pretending to be James Bond, infiltrating foreign organizations, or hijacking vehicles from military bases? No thanks. That was not my line of work.

I reread the completed files. The text was dry and proper, but somewhere inside me, the doubts of my former clerical self began to nag. Was this enough to get past the bureaucratic screening process on the first try? What if some HR clerk simply shoved my application into a drawer and forgot about it?

[Special Command: Write perfect résumés that will guarantee my employment.]

My perception narrowed into a tight tunnel, at the end of which there was nothing but the keyboard and my fingers hammering the keys in a burst of machine-gun fire. The outside world ceased to exist.

Thirty minutes later, the intense focus released me, and I returned to my normal state. I reread the documents open on the monitor and gave a slight nod. They were flawless.

Every application had become a masterpiece of bureaucratic and professional writing. The text now contained precise, carefully placed emphasis that presented my skills in the most favorable possible light. Weak points and ambiguous wording had vanished, replaced by an ironclad, thoroughly reasoned case. If I had possessed a tool like this in my previous life, I would have landed a position in the Presidential Administration without a second thought.

With complete peace of mind, I digitally signed the files and sent the entire package to the official addresses.

The applications were submitted. Now all I had to do was wait for the HR departments to respond.