The first thing I experience in my second life is the warm and constricting dark.
Peaceful. Cozy.
All I need now is a TV and crunchyroll fir watching COTE, and I'm content for life…
I heard season four is coming soon...
My hazy thoughts are interrupted by the muffled sounds coming from beyond the confines of my current dwelling. Which feel thick, liquid, all-encompassing super fleshy… also dark.
I feel warm, and weightless, and peaceful in a way that reminds me of that one time I ended up paying 40 dollars at a reststop massage chair by accident, just cause it felt nice.
I am floating. It's nice. Really nice…
That is… until the memory of my leading up to my current circumstances slams into me with all of the subtlety of Truck-Kun himself.
I'm positive he's real too, now that I stop and think about it…
Anyways, my brain fires its infant Kryptonian synapses and my most definitely not Infantile psyche prices everything together in a flash.
As I'm just now discovering, due to my Kryptonian Biology, my brain is infinitely more functional than before. Like to the point where I'm remembering everything I've ever experienced via my five senses instantly, and processing it at insane speeds. Even as an unborn child, my body, brain, and everything with it is improved.
That's cool as fuck!
I think, before my brain circles back to a few nanoseconds prior.
Oh, Fuck!
The goddess. Her smug, echoing voice. "Back to your starting point."
Again. Oh, Fuck!
My human memories want to influence my infant body to crash out, but my Kryptonian instincts restrict my movements, as even a sneeze could kill my mother from the inside out.
After all, she's human.
And she's been in the California sun carrying me for almost nine months, meaning she's been unintentionally developing the powers of her unborn Kryptonian son.
In other words, a ticking time bomb if my adult conscience had had it's way.
That was… scary to think about…
Anyways, back to the root cause of me almost crashing out.
I just realized something.
And oh, goddess, you have got to be shitting me.
My maternal safety instincts preventing my eyes from widening, but my soul does a full-body flinch.
The warm, peaceful dark suddenly feels like a fleshy prison.
I'm… in the womb.
She didn't mean a metaphorical rebirth, a second chance at childhood.
She meant a biological, amniotic-fluid-filled quite literal reset.
I'M IN THE WOMB?!?
Blurgh!
I unintentionally silently dry-heave, barely managing to stay still, only possible because of my excellent body control that is seemingly inherent to Kryptonians.
Fucking disgusting. Just what a grown ass man wants to do!
Remember with perfect Kryptonian memory the time he spent chilling in his mom's womb, followed by a special edition episode of being shoved out her p*ssy!
Add in Eternal youth? Golly fucking Gee! I'm soooooo lucky! Thank you so much, Goddess, for this completely unnecessary experience that will forever change how I look at my mother, talk less of pregnancy in general!
You've really got an imagination, don't you?
I wish I was only Imagining this too, but but unfortunately fir me, you have now made this a fucking memory for me!
Director of the year, everybody! Director of the fucking year!
My existential crisis is rudely interrupted by the shaking of the womb, and my mothers contractions deciding to evict me.
If I wasn't thoroughly disgusted, I'd probably make a joke like, "Not even born yet she's putting me out…"
Unfortunately, I'm thoroughly disgusted. Did mention that I'm thoroughly disgusted? I think I forgot to mention that I'm THOROUGHLY FUCKING DISGUSTED!!!
The walls of my trauma inducing, yet disgustingly cozy prison also refered to by Biologists as "the womb" begin to contract with a terrifying, relentless pressure.
The deep, rhythmic swoosh-thump that was once the comforting 808 to my daily womb life soundtrack becomes the tribal drumbeat of my impending exile.
Wow. I could be a SSS-Rank drama queen with that description.
I think, before, you know, the process of my birth grabs my attention again.
The world outside is a cacophony of muffled sounds that my new, Kryptonian ears in no way strain to pick up.
In fact, it's hella disorienting. Like listening to Took Her To The O with airpods on full blast, versus listening to it in your room with full blast.
In your room, it'd be localized yet louder compared to the airpods. The airpods would feel louder, but only because they're directly in your ear, and have noise canceling features.
If I put a speaker on full blast on a table next to airpods on full blast and asked you which is louder obviously the speaker would win.
I guess what I'm trying to explain is that my Kryptonian senses perceive sound on a basis of perception…
I'm guessing it doesn't really make sense, but I'm a horrible teacher. And chances are, you've never been Kryptonian, so you probably can't relate to my explanation on any level whatsoever, but I digress…
Abruptly snapping me out of exploring my Kryptonian senses, is a woman's voice around 45 years old if I had to guess, strained and encouraging: "Come on...-arling! Stay.... -rong. That's it!"
Then, another voice. Younger, laced with pain and a grit that feels too old for its owner.
It's speaking in rapid Español. "¡Me duele! ¡Maldita sea! Tienes que trabajar conmigo, cariño. Ambos necesitamos que estés aquí. Ayuda un poco a mami, ¿sí?"
("It hurts! Damn, it hurts! You gotta work with me here, baby. We both need you to be out here. Help Mommy a bit, yeah?")
That's… that's my mother. Valeria. The realization is a strange, warm bolt through me. She's talking to me. Even if she sounds way younger than I'd ever heard her before.
Mamá.
I think.
I'd thought I'd never see you again…
Before I can process my emotions, a third voice, bright and laughing. "Sis, I can't believe you're in the middle of giving birth, but you're asking the baby to come out on his own. Unbelievable!"
TIÁ?! I think. She sounds way younger too! What the hell?
Her laughter triggers a pained groan from my mother, causimg her contractions to worsen. "Damn it, Alejandra! Don't make me laugh! It hurts worse!"
I feel a bizarre urge to laugh. Seeing my family like this… it really seems like they're happy.
A calmer, older voice intervenes. The midwife, if I had to guess.
My mother once mentioned I was born on Nana Marie's apartment futon with the help of a midwife. "Breathe." The midwife says, "It is better to be joyful than focusing on the pain, but you still need to finish the labour, ¿sí?"
Labour. Right. That's what is happening right now. Kinda wild that I forgot. But then again, I wish I'd never see or felt things that I know remember…
Kinda like the feeling of grinding for a PlayStation achievement that you really don't care about, only because it's the current trend..
You did it, but only felt disgust when all was said and done…
The pressure builds to an insane crescendo, like the Darth Vader theme track on dope.
The muffled world is full of my mother's labored screams, and my TiáAlejandra's excited, almost manic squealing("Push out my Nephew! Let me see him so I can squish his chwubby wittle chweeks, Kyaaah!" – seriously, who is this woman? Does she go to yoga class with Chronicle or something? Sheesh), and the midwife's steady commands.
There's a final, punctuated squeeze, a sensation of violent, puke inducing wet squelching sound, and then—
Cold.
Blinding, shocking, unforgivably disorienting. That's how I'd describe my regressions beggining.
All in all, 0/10, don't recommend.
[Insert Family Feud Buzzer sound here.]
Disgusting sliminess and blood coats every inch of my infinitely sensitive Kryptonian skin.
I vow to take three shows a day for eternity, righ here on the spot.
Suddenly, the familiar weightlessness of my mother's womb is gone, replaced by a terrifying gravity.
And no. I am not flying…
I'm dangling. Someone is holding me by the ankles, and I have the profoundly undignified thought that I'm about to be offered as a sacrifice to K'uk'ulkan like my Abuela used to say to scare me as a kid.
Slap!
A sharp slap stings my backside, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Dammit, woman! A little warning before you slap dat azz!
My body gasps on pure, furious reflex.
Air, sharp and real and hot, floods my lungs for the first time.
I don't cry. I'm too busy being utterly, profoundly traumatized the entire experience.
Like… experiencing birth isn't bad enough, she gotta slap da booty too?
I just lie there in the midwife's hands, certain that even therapy can't cure me, processing the absolute scam that is being born.
Then, I turn my eyes to the midwife.
YOU! You are the cause.
This… is the start to my villain arc!
BWAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!!!
"Good job, sweetie! He's perfect!" Ms. Alvarado's voice is close now, clear.
Hey! Lady! You can't just ignore a regressor when hecsays stuff like that! That's like… begging the universe for negative karma!
(Funnily enough she wins the $753.9 million Power Ball Jackpot in the Japan Arc…)
I'm moved, and thoroughly wiped down with rough cloths, which definitely didn't feel good on the sensitive skin of my little… little brother.
The cold eventually recedes a bit, replaced by a dry warmth.
I'm placed into someone's arms. Softness. A faster heartbeat. A smell that is uniquely, fundamentally right. Milk, sweat, and something sweet. My mother.
Silence hangs in the hot, morning air. It's broken by Alejandra. "Sis?"
"Yeah?" My mother's voice is exhausted, trembling.
"Thank you. For being here."
The emotion in those words is so heavy it almost has a physical weight. I feel my mother's arms tighten around me, just a fraction.
Alejandra's voice softens. "Of course. You know I'd never abandon you. Especially at a time like this." Then, the moment is shattered by her returning exuberance. "Plus, my wittle nephew is about to be born and I wouldn't miss it for the world. I have the right to hug him first!"
Typical. I can already tell she's a chaos magnet. I'm starting to like her. In my first life, she died from the the result of an altercation involving the Mexican Mafia when I was younger. She has that energy about her, so I'm not surprised she'd attract chaos…
But… the staring continues. Why is everyone so quiet?
"I agree, but why isn't he crying?" My mother asks, confusion cutting through her fatigue.
Ms. Alvarado's blurry face moves closer. I can feel her gaze. "I'm not entirely sure. When you take him to get his birth certificate, maybe have them run some checks. But from I can tell, he's healthy. At least physically, sweetie."
Oh. Right. The crying. I was too busy filing a mental negative regressor Yelp! Review. Oops.
Suddenly, Alejandra is there, her face a dramatic, blurry oval hovering above me. "Nephew! So cute! so... cute..." Her voice trails off into a breathless whisper.
And then I remember. The other part of the goddess's "gift." My heritage. Not just a reincarnated soul, but an incubus. A demon of desire, even in infant form. My "innate Incubus charm."
Ah.
So that's it. They're not staring because I'm not crying. They're staring because I look… unnatural. Perfect. Flawless skin, features sculpted beyond human genetics.
I must look like a creepy, hyper-realistic doll.
Although even then, what's wrong with them? I think, thoroughly annoyed. They're staring at me like I'm Jesus or something...
Wait. Am I?
"He looks like a baby angel..." My mother murmurs, her voice full of awestruck wonder. There's no fear, just overwhelming love. It melts something cynical inside me.
"Kyaaaaaa! My cute wittle nephew is gonna be a Heartbreaker I'm calling it now!" Alejandra declares, and I can practically hear her grinning.
Ms. Alvarado chuckles, pleasantly surprised. "Who exactly is his father, sweetie? He must've been quite the looker..."
The warm, happy atmosphere almost immediately plunges into an icy well.
My mother's body goes utterly still. The silence is louder than any scream. I feel her heart hammer faster against my side.
Alejandra, noting the tension, swoops in like Social superhero. "His father isn't important. What matters is giving me a turn to hold him, sis! You're hogging him!"
The tension snaps. My mother lets out a wet chuckle, the sound thick with unshed tears but real. "No way! You absolutely cannot hold him longer than I do!"
seen.
Alejandra fake-pouts, her voice a playful whine. "Meanie! You see this, my beloved Nephew? She's keeping us apart! Don't worry! Auntie will give you whatever you want for the rest of your life! Then we'll see who's your favorite. Hmmph"
Ms. Alvarado giggles. "But dear... what are you going to name him?"
"That's right!" Alejandra's excitement is a tangible force. "What's his name, sis? I vote D'Angelo! He really does look like an angel..."
My mother looks down at me.
"Victor," she says, and the word is a vow, a promise, a blessing all in one. "His name is Victor. Because, with him, no matter what life throws at me... I've already won. My sweet baby boy..."
She kisses my forehead.
Victor, I think, even on a way different timeline, my name remains unchanged.
I guess some things are meant to be, huh?
Now, about that heat. And when's lunch? This being alive thing has got me craving Abuela's legendary fajitas...