New York; Manhattan Island; November; Late Evening; In a house that looked like any other on the street.
"Nervous, Curt?"
"A little." He admitted, his voice a deep hissing rasp.
The reason being that despite the belted purple pants, the thick plain-black turtleneck sweater, and black shoes polished to a shine, there was no way to hide just who, and what, he was.
Leaf-green scales where he wasn't covered, a snout filled with needle-sharp teeth, and a dexterous tail - perhaps one-and-a-half times longer than his legs - that emerged from the specially-made hole in the seat of his pants. In fact, everything he wore from the waist down had to be made to order.
Which had been his life for what was now fast-approaching four-point-five years, ever since his attempt to re-grow his missing arm succeeded. In a manner of speaking.
[+]
Dr Curtis Connors hadn't always been a PhD Geneticist, specialising in Herpetology. Years before he'd served in the US Army Corp as a Field Surgeon, providing on-the-spot medical assistance to wounded soldiers, in fact, he'd been one of the best, able to save far more lives than many others with his willingness to dive into the danger and help his fellow countrymen.
And that was when and how his life took its first nosedive.
A grenade had detonated nearby, shrapnel puncturing his right arm while he'd been busy tending to another wounded. In hindsight, the smart thing to have done would be to retreat to tend to the injury A.S.A.P. but in his arrogance, he'd remained on the battlefield and used his supplies on all the others he could. By the time he finally returned and had his own wounds examined, the damage had been done. Too much of the tissue had died, gangrene was setting in. The only option he had was to have his arm amputated slightly below the shoulder.
The immediate consequence had been his Honourable Discharge from Service. The more serious one was slow to manifest, his growing depression. In the back of his mind, he never really felt, Whole. Of course these days he'd long since learned just how misguided it had been for him, but back then it felt like it was how he should feel. Yes, over time he learned how to live with just one arm, able to button and belt up himself, tie his own laces, eat at the table without too much trouble. But with the constant pain where he knew his arm should be, Phantom Pain, and how the world was essentially built for those with two good arms and legs, he became resolved to find a means of making himself whole once again.
Which led him into his other area of expertise. His knowledge on reptiles was immense and he knew that a number of them had the ability to regenerate entire limbs if they were lost, a trait that meant if a predator was to grab their tail, they could break it loose and run away from the threat. If he could replicate this ability in humans, the benefits would be beyond measure.
With the same drive he'd carried from his Field Surgeon Days, he dived into his research for months on end, determining how to add that particular trait of reptiles into the Human Genome. Aid for this came perhaps accidentally from a long-time colleague, Dr Vincent Stegron. His work on how to swap strands and pieces of the Genetic Structure between different species was the breakthrough he needed to complete his work, dubbed the Bio-Regenerative Formula. In part from his elation at completing his work, and in part his own impatience to get his arm back, he injected the serum into himself before the full test results were complete.
And that was when things went wrong.
Yes, he did grow a new right arm, and it functioned as well as his old one. But before he could call out to Martha to tell her the Good News, the spasms of pain had started.
He remembered, all too well, the gut-wrenching fear from seeing the new skin turn rough and hard, spreading from the arm across his torso to all the other extremities. At how it changed colour from pal-tan to green, his clothes growing tight as he grew not only in height, but muscle. Legs, arms and feet tearing through what he wore. His face pushing outwards, the crunch of his skull shrinking, his spine extending well past its base. He must have been screaming as the last memory of that event before his world went black was the sight of Martha looking at him, the expression of absolute terror on her face, one he'd never forgotten.
[+]
"You're thinking about that night again, aren't you?" Martha probed, aware of how his mind could wander towards the more painful episodes in his life.
"Ssorry." He never had been able to eliminate the lisp, but these days it wasn't too bad. "It's jusst…I'm worried…that'ss all." He explained.
"About?" Martha looked her husband in the eye. For all his eighty inches and three-hundred and eight pounds, he did still have the same round eyes as before, even if the irises were red these days.
"Thiss dinner. I did mention that Dr Sstregron iss more prone to…well…letting loosse." He fumbled briefly, trying to find the right words.
"If you're worried about him being an embarrassment to you, don't." She gently scolded. "After all, it was your idea to invite him."
That was true, when a little over a week ago he'd met Dr Stegron for the first time in a long while, when he'd been picking up a few things for Martha before going home from work.
"Yess. I guesss we'll jusst need to ssee what happenss then." He conceded, his tail lowering as his nerves calmed.
"Mom? Dad? What are you talking about?" The question from their son, Billy.
"Nothing." Curt began, "That you need to worry about." He added right after.
"So have you finished your homework? All of it?" Martha asked her son.
"Yes. It's all done." He answered his mother with a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his voice.
"Good." Now Curt took his turn to speak to him, dropping to one knee before he continued. "Now I know I've mentioned this before but to be sure, you do know Dr Stegron is a lot like myself?"
Billy nodded, it was hard for him to tell what his father was thinking, given that his face had so little ability to show emotion, having to rely on how he spoke and his body moved to make a guess. And he supposed it'd be the same with this Dr Stegron as well.
"Then you'll know what to expect, so try not to be too surprised." He comforted his son, still not completely used to what Curt was these days. 'I hope.' He mentally added, still unsure if Stegron had taken his advice.
The doorbell ringing meant he'd get his answer soon enough. A check through the spy-hole confirming the unmistakable spiked tail and orange scaled head of their guest as he unlocked the door and invited him in.
Dr Stegron waited by the door a moment longer, dusting off the light coating of snow that had built up on his thick purple trench coat and hat before stepping inside. And it was now, once Curt had closed the door that he could see that Dr Stegron hadn't taken his advice at all.
His coat - which on further inspection, did look just a little bit tatty - opened, then off, and once the hat and scarf joined it on the coat rack, he had nothing to cover his scales with, save for the bracers he always wore.
"Evening Curt." His voice carried the same deep hissing rasp as Dr Connors, though still distinct. "Mrsss Connorsss. Billy." He addressed his host's family in turn, kneeling down to speak with Billy.
Who in turn had to remember to close his mouth at the sight of this Saurian Doctor. His father had certainly been right when he said they were a lot like each other, in that they were both reptiles, but that's where the visual similarities ended. His father didn't have this Doctor Stegron's Dorsal Plates or spiked tail, and he stood on the balls of his feet versus the heel for his father.
And despite his every instinct screaming at him to RUN! He held his ground, albeit close to his mother. He already knew that despite his father's appearance, he had proven that he could be trusted, and he would at least give their guest a chance to show the same.
"H-Hello Dr, Stegron." Billy managed to greet him through his nervousness, which Stegron responded to with a chuckle and ruffle of his hair.
But now Dr Connors was really fidgeting, the tip of his tail shaking one hand tugging at the neck of his sweater. A sight Martha noticed as she thought of a way to diffuse a possible problem.
"Billy? Mind helping me finish preparing Dinner?" Martha offered him.
"S-Sure." His reply once his moment of surprise passed.
"Good. If you two could wait in the living room, and I'll call when it's ready. It'll just be a few minutes. Tops." Motioning to Stegron where it was, then taking Billy with her into the opposite room.
"Vincent." Dr Connors began as soon as he knew they were alone. "Did I not ssay, wear ssomething? Even sshhortss? I thought you agreed to that."
"No. I sssaid I'd think about it." Dr Stegron countered, a little more forcefully than he intended. "Then I decccided, if they're going to sssee me, they're going, to sssee, me." He explained his decision.
Curt could only sigh deeply at that as he slowly sat down to think things over, almost taking a hunched stance before correcting himself and settling down on the couch, angling himself to let his tail swing round. A sight that wasn't lost on his guest.
"Lisssten, I'm sssorry if you don't like thisss." Stegron apologised to his host, but with every intention of making sure he knew why he'd done it. "But I'm not going to deny who, and what, I am. And truth be told, I wasss hoping it'd be the sssame with you."
"What doess that mean?" He shot a hard look at him, wondering just what he was getting at.
"I mean, look at you." Stegron pointed to Connors' chest. "The way you're dressssed, being dressssed at all. Jussst what are you trying to prove?" The question wasn't harshly fired, more, concerned.
"Only that I'm sstill me. Sstill Dr Curtiss Connorss." He finally replied. "That I'm the ssame man I wass before thiss happened. The husband of Martha and father of Billy, a teacher in ESU." The last part, he knew had been a minor miracle. It wasn't everyday after all, that one of their faculty essentially changed species, and there had been a lengthy probation period he'd been subject to - constant supervision while on ESU Grounds, regular reports of his behaviour - before they had even begun to trust him again.
"And you mean to tell me that, you've never, not even once." Stegron paused to consider his next words. "You know my name is Dr Vinccent Ssstegron, but I am, Ssstegron, the Dinosssaur-Man. It'sss who, and what, I am. Ssso tell me Curt. Have you ever, wanted to be, The Lizard? To sssimply be who, and what, you are?"
Curt wanted to give a flat "no" to him but no sound came from his snout as he recalled a dream he'd had.
[+]
It had been last Summer, and he, Martha, and Billy had been travelling down the I-95 to their home in the Florida Everglades. Martha had been driving at the time and along this dull stretch of monotonous asphalt, he later realised he'd dozed off.
Because the next thing he knew, he was not only alone in the car - not to mention the now-empty Interstate - but in the drivers' seat. Squirming and growling in ever-increasing frustration at these Mammalian Trappings of metal, glass, and fabric, the soft ground and warm air that he was meant to be with just beyond his grasp, even opening the window of no use, the outside air denying him, what air there inside stifling. His efforts to get the fresher air fruitless as he roared and screeched, clawed hands swiping away until by accident, he tore a gash through his sweater.
And a small puff of the sweeter air outside greeted his flicking tongue.
An experimental widening of the gash sent another precious small puff his way, and again. Chuckling to himself, he knew what to do.
With the road ahead straight and true, both hands tore into the thick material that suffocated him, thick arms and solid abs at last able to enjoy the light that greeted them. The worthless scraps out the window as the scenery changed, now an empty country road. Followed soon by more from his freeing his caged legs, chunks of purple fabric flying out, hissing in pleasure as he felt himself become more alive with each piece of his scales freed.
Now he was at his home, and forcing the car to a halt, was already kicking his shoes off before he was even out. This, was much better for The Lizard. The sun soaking into him, the warm breeze caressing him as he raced past the house and into the thick woodlands.
Racing through the dense foliage, jumping over fallen obstacles and dodging pitfalls, sometimes using the trunks and larger branches for jumps and swings. Clawed and bare soles never losing their grip. His utter delight at his Freedom. A large river lay ahead, the water running clean and clear. A launch from a fallen trunk, a kick from the standing one, arms outstretched with legs and tail straight back as like an arrow, he sliced through its surface.
And jolted back awake, still in the car, still in the passenger seat, still 700 miles to go.
[+]
Except for Martha, he told none about that Dream of his. Only they knew, just how much he liked it whenever he so much as thought about it, just, how badly, he wanted to do that, as he'd done so in his mind.
"That's dinner ready now." He was spared from answering - for now at least - when Martha called to them, herself and Billy at opposite sides of the table.