Plan B burned through their bloodstreams at an accelerated rate; like a blast of nitrous oxide to a high performance engine, the experimental blue serum provided a much-needed turbo boost, triggering them to manifest with more power than they’d ever experienced before – but not without a cost. The sensation can be described as halfway between a tequila hangover and a sledgehammer to the back of the skull. Cole yanks Brodie back to his feet, whose rubbery legs are barely cooperating. “Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes flickering. He sways, grabbing hold of Cole’s arm at the bicep to avoid falling. “Bro…did you take another shot of Plan B, or have you been hitting the gym?” “No,” Cole replies, slightly confused. “I just haven’t turned back yet.” Still in his manifested state he stands nearly a head taller than usual, impossibly broad and chiseled, eyes glowing an unnatural electric blue. Paige pulls a set of keys from her pocket, dangling them with a light chime.
