Calmly, or rather as calmly as it is possible to be when your first cognizant thought upon birth was 'Kill Those Bitches', you reconfigure yourself for your intended useage.
You had many configurations available to you, but of them only one seemed appropriate for your needs. True, a neon blue agent of chaos might have been gratifying, and a lizard the size of a city might have been useful, but what your Master needs now more than ever is a Hero. Not a punch clock costume jockey like the Protectorate. Not an edgy vigilante bent on revenge. But a capital H Hero. Someone who regularly meets, matches, and defeats unfathomable odds to uplift the people around them.
Your Master, you feel, is in drastic need of uplifting.
Even if bathing her enemies in nuclear hellfire would have been just as satisfying.
When you're configuration is complete, you find yourself an unpleasant collage of not quite human features. At a distance you might look human enough, but on closer inspection you have something of the uncanny about you, as though someone forgot to add the normal imperfections of humanity to you as you were exiting the mold.
It doesn't matter though, because the form is temporary. A transitional phase as it were. The second your body settles is the second that a web of lights stretches out before you, a network of possibilities and heroism from which you draw strength.
Without hesitation you reach out to grasp one, and engage your emulation protocol. Your body shifts. Your mind realigns. You become more.
And then, like the totally normal human you probably appear to be, you set to work fiddling with the combination lock on Taylor Heberts prison.