The Multi-Limbed Dilemma

Chapter 5: Classroom Complications

The hum of the physics classroom was a low-frequency drone that usually lulled Diego into a daze, but today it sounded like a warning signal. He sat hunched over his notebook, his spine rigid, his jacket zipped all the way to his chin despite the stuffy warmth of the lab. Every time he shifted, the phantom weight of his own back pressed against the chair, a constant, nagging reminder of the biology he was desperately trying to suppress.

"Pratama, you're looking a bit green," Nadiya whispered, nudging his elbow with hers. She was sitting in the desk to his left, her eyes sharp, darting over his face with the calculated focus of a detective. "You sure you shouldn't be home in bed? You look like you’re trying to hold your soul inside your body with sheer willpower."

Diego forced a laugh, though it sounded like dry parchment tearing. "Just the history paper, Nadiya. I’m pulling an all-nighter. I’m basically running on caffeine and pure delusion right now."

"You're acting like you're smuggling something under that jacket," she pressed, her voice dropping lower. "Are you in trouble, Diego? Like, 'debt to the wrong people' kind of trouble? Because you've been acting twitchy since yesterday."

"No, nothing like that," Diego muttered, his eyes glued to Mr. Henderson’s demonstration on the chalkboard. "Seriously. Just a bad week. I'm fine."

"You're really not," she countered, leaning back.

Just then, Mr. Henderson moved past their row, his heavy footfall sending a tremor through the floorboards. Diego’s desk buckled slightly, and his mechanical pencil—the one he had been using to meticulously shade his notes—rolled toward the edge of the laminate surface.

Diego reached for it with his left hand, but his shoulder spasmed, a sudden, sharp, and entirely involuntary command firing through his nerves.

Before his brain could even process the movement, a pale, slender hand shot out from beneath the collar of his jacket. It moved with the speed of a striking cobra, snaking past his ear, grabbing the pencil in mid-air just before it hit the floor, and retracting back into the darkness of his hoodie with a silent, fluid grace.

The entire motion took less than half a second.

The room remained silent, save for the rhythmic clacking of chalk against the board. Diego froze, his heart slamming against his ribs like a panicked bird in a cage. He held the pencil tightly in his left hand, staring straight ahead, praying to whatever gods existed that he was the only one who had seen it.

He heard a sharp, intake of breath to his left.

Slowly, painfully, Diego turned his head. Nadiya was staring at him. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape, her gaze fixed not on his face, but on the shifting, subtle bulge near his shoulder blade.

"Diego," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Diego asked, his voice cracking.

"Don't give me that," she hissed, glancing around to ensure no one else had noticed the impossible flash of movement. "I saw your jacket move. I saw a hand. A hand, Diego! Where did that come from?"

"You're seeing things," he said, though his hands were shaking so hard he had to grip his desk to keep from rattling it. "It was just... a strap. A strap on my bag, or maybe my sleeve. It must have snagged."

"A strap doesn't catch a falling pencil," Nadiya said, her voice rising in pitch, fueled by a mixture of genuine fear and morbid fascination. "That looked like a human hand. Are you wearing some kind of rig? Like a mechanical arm thingy for a project?"

Diego seized the narrative, his mind racing for an exit. "Yeah. Yes! Exactly. It’s... it’s a prototype. Robotics club, you know? Mr. Henderson gave me a special project. It’s a bionic prosthetic prototype. I’m testing the haptics and the reaction time."

Nadiya blinked, her eyebrows knitting together. "A bionic arm? Since when do you do anything besides struggle through AP Chem?"

"It’s a secret project," Diego lied, his voice growing steadier as he leaned into the fabrication. "I’m hoping to get a scholarship, so I've been keeping it under wraps. It’s... it's a bit glitchy, that’s why it keeps firing off at random times. I'm sorry if I freaked you out."

Nadiya leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the bulky, uneven shape of his jacket. "That looked way too organic to be a prototype, Diego. It moved like it was connected to your bones."

"That’s the goal, isn't it? To make it feel natural?" Diego forced a weak, nervous laugh. "I mean, if it didn't look real, I’d be failing the assignment, right?"

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice unconvinced. "That was fast. Too fast. You're telling me you’ve got a piece of experimental tech stuffed under your hoodie that reacts faster than a human being?"

"It's a work in progress," Diego said, desperate to end the conversation. "Look, can we talk about this later? I’m supposed to calibrate the sensors and right now, the thing is acting up because I’m stressed out. If it keeps flailing, I’m going to get kicked out of class."

Nadiya looked at him for a long, agonizing moment. She looked at his pale, sweating face, then down at the bulge in his jacket, then back at his eyes. The skepticism was etched into the lines around her mouth, a silent testament to the fact that his story was hanging by a thread.

"Fine," she whispered. "But we are talking about this the second the bell rings. And if you're lying to me, Diego, I'm going to find out. I’m not an idiot."

"I know you're not," he said, turning back to his notebook.

He didn't write a single word for the rest of the period. He just stared at the page, the lead of his pencil snapping under the pressure of his grip. He felt the phantom limbs behind him, curled tight against his shoulder blades, waiting for a signal he wasn't sure he was the one sending.

Mutation level: 20%. Sensory feedback loop: Active.

The voice in his head was quieter now, a low hum of satisfaction.

When the bell finally rang, the sound was like a release valve. Students flooded out of their chairs, the room erupting into the usual chaos of gossip and movement. Diego stood up, his movements stiff and practiced, and kept his back to the wall as he moved toward the exit.

"Diego!"

He didn't look back, but he heard the distinct thud-thud of Nadiya’s sneakers chasing him down the hallway.

"Diego, hold up! You think you're just going to walk away after that?"

He rounded the corner, ducking into a less crowded corridor that led toward the lockers. He could hear her footsteps getting closer, persistent and rhythmic.

"Diego! Stop!"

He spun around, forcing a smile that felt like a jagged piece of glass on his face. "Nadiya, look, I really need to go to the shop and work on the calibration. It’s really sensitive right now, and if I don't get the stabilizers fixed, the whole thing could just—"

"Stop with the 'calibration' crap," she said, cutting him off. She stood in front of him, her arms crossed, blocking his path. She looked at him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. "I saw it. I saw the way it moved. That wasn't some piece of metal and plastic. That was skin, Diego. That was your skin."

"You're projecting," Diego said, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Am I?" She took a step closer, her voice dropping into a dangerous, whispery tone. "You’ve been acting like you’re being hunted for days. You’re hiding something, and whatever it is, it’s not a school project. You’re terrified, and you’re hurting."

Diego looked down at the floor, the weight of the secret feeling like it might finally crush him. The hallway was empty, save for the hum of the fluorescent lights.

"I can't tell you, Nadiya. I really can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if you knew," he whispered, his eyes meeting hers, "you wouldn't be able to look at me the same way again. And I'm not ready to be a monster in your eyes."

Nadiya stared at him, her expression softening for a fraction of a second, but then it hardened again, her curiosity clearly warring with her concern. She reached out, her hand hovering near the edge of his hoodie.

"Let me see, Diego. Just an inch. Let me see what you’re hiding, and I promise, I won't tell a soul. We can figure it out."

Diego pulled back, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp, and uncontrollable fear. The rear-right arm shot out, a pale streak of motion that caught her wrist, pinning it gently but firmly against the wall beside him.

He froze. She froze.

The hand—the real hand, the extra one—was wrapped around her wrist, its grip impossibly precise. It was his own hand, with his own freckles, but it was coming from his shoulder blade.

Nadiya looked at the hand, then at Diego, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and absolute terror.

"Diego," she breathed, her voice trembling. "What... what did you do?"

Diego didn't say anything. He pulled the hand back, shoving it back into the shredded mess of his hoodie, his chest heaving. He turned and ran. He didn't look back, he didn't stop for the shouts of his name echoing down the hall.

He knew, as he turned the corner and sprinted for the exit, that his life as a normal student was officially over. Nadiya knew. And now, he had to figure out if she was going to be his only ally—or the first person to try and hunt him down.