Demon Lord Shapeshifting System



"I don't know what's going on with him anymore. Did he tell you anything?" 

"I'm sure he'll keep us up to date sometime. Just… Let him be.  That's just how he is, he always preferred exploring on his own." 

Mina sighed at the telephone, twirling the cord on her fingers. "I thought so, and I'm fine with that, to be honest. That's one thing we have in common. I also tend to prefer wandering off to myself and taking care of my business alone. But I…. I'm just worried.'

"I understand that, Minnie." Joan told her softly as she took her pills, downing it with water this time. "Who wouldn't after everything that happened to him? He's just taking it in stride but... Honestly, it felt more like he was overwhelming himself with all kinds of distractions just to not deal with it. With whatever happened to him back in that icy wasteland."

She knew very well how it felt like, running away from your trauma and problems through distractions.

For her, its drugs, partying, overwork, and all kinds of bullshit. For Harker, it must be whatever this deal with his father was. His obsession to get to the bottom of things. 

"Just tell me if he keeps in touch. Maybe he'll open up better to you since you're good with this…. you know. Psychology stuff."

"Barely good. I'm just the medicine woman, mostly dealing with trying to fix the hereditary stuff, y'know? Lots of poor people get passed on these burdens to carry. Drugs help, but only really like a sedative to a wild animal."

She remembered the screams in the asylum, and sighed. 

"Yeah... It's like that. Caging people like they were wild animals in the zoo. When really they were more likely to harm themselves than others, and then trying to sedate them as much as possible."

Mina gritted her teeth. "Yeah….. It makes me sick."

Joan then realized. "Oh, sorry… That was insensitive. I forgot about your—"

"Don't be. I have no plans to forget it, but I have moved on. But I won't deny its existence like Harker and keep it with me always." 

There was a bit of an awkward pause. Joan rubbed her face. She really was bad at this psychology thing, she doesn't know how a therapist can do it. If the mind and its scars were that easy to fix with drugs or CBT or other shit like that, there won't be so many unrecovered people in mental wards. 

"Look, Mina, I—"

"I wonder what it's like for that Garcia boy."

Joan blinked. "Huh?"

"Sorry, it's just a random thought. I often get that a lot, my train of thoughts just tend to move faster than humans. I was reminded of all these being caged and treated like an animal, and I thought how bad it must be for an innocent person who did nothing wrong and couldn't even defend himself. He was just a kid." 

Joan agreed with that sentiment. It's not something that you can easily imagine unless you'd been in the exact same situation. And even then, she wasn't like Felix Garcia.

Most people forget that everyone has different limitations, and that someone's capacity may not be the same. That's why so many people were judgemental and insensitive to the plights of others. 

The amount of victim Olympics that workers in the mental wards do were actually staggering. Often, she would overhear how they would complain about a rich man's daughter getting depressed, when they had to work a blue-collar job and take care of their 4-5 kids. 

Or how they would scoff at a man with severe phobia over spiders that he would throw tantrums and convulse at the sight of one. Deep down, she knew they found it ridiculous. 

Because it's easy to find something ridiculous when it's not something you suffer from. Or better yet….

It's easy to think something was 'fake' just because you never experienced it yourself. 

She was reminded of this the next day that she went into the asylum again to bring the next version of anti-depressant pills, this one more potent than the one before. Pharmaceuticals was more or less a trial and error job. It's not just about finding the 'secret ingredient', it's also about finding the right dosage, observing for weeks and weeks, and then trying to eliminate the side effects observed.

Then it's testing all over again. 

There was no such thing as a panacea, because then a panacea must be good enough to adapt itself to the very specific differences of every individual in this world and their conditions.

"He's faking it! The kid's breaking windows because he saw some shadow monsters inside the walls of an antique shop? Give me a break! If he's hallucinatin', it's the shrooms, not because he's schizo!"

The person who said that was a police officer. He was pointing his finger at a bleeding and bruised 13 year old. Right beside this boy were the social services and the doctors. 

The social service worker's calm voice responded. "Still, I don't think that is any excuse to use aggression on a minor, sir. The doctors will run their test until it is confirmed whether or not it is a mental disorder. If it wasn't, then he will be going into juvenile detention with you. But for now, he stays with the mental institute and I will have a word with your chief."

The smug police officer just sneered.

"Don't give me that bullshit, nana. Chief doesn't give a fuck about you soft-hearted grannies. Soon enough, I'll have that thief behind bars where he belongs. He better enjoy his time in the loony bin while he can!"

He went out, bumping against people as he went. He was about to do the same to Joan…

When instead of moving back, she blocked his path.

He growled. "Out of the way, shrink."

Joan just looked at him in the eye with her dead ones and said: 

"I'm not a psychiatrist. But I do think that it's funny how you think the kid deserves to be behind bars for being a danger to society while you walk around with bloody knuckles like that. Says much about your own delusions, doesn't it?"

The cop looked slightly unnerved by her eyes. So dark with large empty pupils, slightly yellowish…. He can't help but be reminded of the corpses that he encountered in this field.

Some died from the crimes of others…. And some from his own, just not discovered.

He shivered and pushed her away, behaving much like those guys with an extreme phobia. 

"Stay away from me, freak!"

He rushed out. Joa scoffed, and approached the poor, shivering kid. 

"You'll be fine, kid. Bad guy's gone."

But the kid only shook his head, looking at the floor. 

"No… As long as there are shadows, the bad guys are always here. The bad things."

She looked at where he was looking, which was his own shadow casted by the old and dirty light bulbs of the mental institute. Joan couldn't help but feel that….

This shadow moved ever so slightly in ways its owner did not.