![[GIF] Man to Mystique - TG/RC by Transviscera](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/87684d17-8b34-4054-a6cc-9b9e97dcb44a/dga6jh0-de789a15-49ed-463b-b180-c74f463b7fcc.gif/v1/fit/w_150,h_150,q_85,strp/_gif__man_to_mystique___tg_rc_by_transviscera_dga6jh0-150.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9ODIzIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvODc2ODRkMTctOGIzNC00MDU0LWE2Y2MtOWI5ZTk3ZGNiNDRhXC9kZ2E2amgwLWRlNzg5YTE1LTQ5ZWQtNDYzYi1iMTgwLWM3NGY0NjNiN2ZjYy5naWYiLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTIwMCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.r4Zl6aMOqaV5NrRZhjvSSHB_T9iXxW5xvgbc5_e-C_U)
It was meant to be a routine transfusion. Too little iron in my blood. The nurse hung the blood bag from the IV and slid the needle into the vein of my arm.
Something doesn't feel right. An itching, burning sensation pulses up my arm in time with my heartbeat. The skin on my forearm is turning grey.
"Uh. Nurse? I don't feel so good."
Her eyes have gone wide in terror. She backs away. "Security! Someone get security here now!"
The pain flows over my chest, which bulges into twin mounds. My skin is drying, cracking, turning chalk white. Writhing and scratching, my fingernails sink deep, and my skin peels away like a shedding snake, exposing deep indigo skin beneath, glistening with iridescent scales.
"Somebody help!" I scream.
The curtain is whipped back and a hand grabs my hair, dragging me from the hospital bed. As I'm dragged kicking and squirming down hospital corridors, the friction of the floor tears off more patches of skin, revealing a horrifyingly alien form beneath. My loose skin snags on a patch of rough carpet, the entire lower half of me sloughing off like a pair of baggy pants, genitals and all, exposing long, lithe legs. My voluptuous ass skids across the tiles.
"Grab her legs, damnit," the man barks. "And someone get her microchipped, quickly."
A dozen strong arms wrestle me onto a trolley, strapping my limbs down. The men have the cold, hard look of soldiers. There is a pneumatic hiss and a sharp pain in the back of my neck. The trolley is rushed towards a black van marked Center for Mutant Control.
"Someone please listen to me. I'm not a mutant!"
"That's enough out of you, mutie scum," the soldier snarls, forcing a gag between my lips.