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The King Of Fighters TG TF Part 9: Isla
🕑 Added 2024-10-02 20:13:01 +0000 UTCIsla had always been a force to be reckoned with. Born and raised in the chaotic streets of a bustling South American city, she grew up fast. Her parents had abandoned her when she was just a child, leaving her to the mercy of an abusive orphanage system. But even at a young age, Isla was different. She wasn’t like the other kids who quietly accepted their fate. She was defiant, full of energy, and determined to carve her own path in a world that seemed designed to forget about her.
It was in that orphanage that Isla first discovered her powers—the phantom hands she came to name Amanda. They were a part of her, as much as her limbs, her thoughts, her very essence. The spectral hands floated around her, acting on her will and protecting her from the world she couldn’t trust. Amanda was more than a tool; Amanda was a companion. Isla could count on no one but Amanda, and that was just fine with her. Together, they created art—vibrant graffiti that covered the city walls in bright colors and bold messages. Graffiti was her rebellion, her voice in a world that refused to listen.
But deep down, Isla was lonely. She hated to admit it, but the truth gnawed at her, buried under layers of bravado and rebellion. She hated adults, especially those who claimed to know better, and she hated the orphanage for turning its back on the children who needed it most. She despised Shun'ei—her greatest rival—for the simple fact that he had what she never could: a family, adults who cared, a community. Even if he too was cursed with Amplified Specters, he wasn't alone. And that infuriated her.
But no matter how fast Isla ran or how high she soared with Amanda by her side, there was one thing she couldn’t escape: her fate. Unbeknownst to her, a shadowy organization had been tracking her movements for months, watching her every step as part of Dr. Ryuu Morioka’s grand plan to revive the legendary tournament. They had seen her potential, her fiery spirit, and the unique power she wielded. And now, it was time to make her part of the experiment.
It was a rainy night when they finally came for Isla. She had just finished tagging a large mural on the side of an abandoned warehouse, her hands in her pockets while Amanda sprayed bright neon colors across the bricks. She felt an odd sense of accomplishment, knowing that her art would stand out amidst the dreary surroundings.
But as she admired her work, the air seemed to shift. She had always been perceptive, and something felt... off. Amanda stirred, glowing with a subtle purple hue as if sensing danger. Before Isla could react, the sound of footsteps echoed in the alley.
Suddenly, a thick, green gas billowed around her, filling her lungs and making her head spin. Isla stumbled, her knees buckling as her vision blurred. Amanda lashed out at the shadows, but the figures moved too fast, their movements swift and coordinated. She tried to fight, to call out for Amanda, but the gas was too potent. Her world faded into darkness as the last thing she heard was a low, ominous voice.
"Take her. The doctor is waiting."
When Isla awoke, she was no longer in the alley. The cold, sterile air of the laboratory greeted her as she groggily blinked her eyes open. Her wrists and ankles were shackled to a steel table, and no matter how much she struggled, she couldn't break free. She could sense Amanda nearby, but her phantom hands were restrained, encased in some sort of energy field that kept them in check.
“Hey! What the hell is this?!” Isla’s voice was hoarse, but her fiery defiance remained. She tugged at the restraints, her heart pounding in her chest. “Let me out of here!”
A figure appeared at the edge of her vision—a tall man in a pristine white lab coat. His face was obscured by shadows, but his voice was calm, almost clinical.
“Calm yourself, Isla,” the man said. “You are here for a purpose. Dr. Ryuu Morioka has great plans for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Isla spat, glaring at him through strands of her blue-streaked hair. “I don’t care about your stupid plans. I’m not some lab rat!”
The man’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Oh, but you are. You’ve been chosen. Your powers are unique, Isla. You and Amanda will play a crucial role in the revival of the tournament. And by the time we’re done, you’ll be more powerful than you could ever imagine.”
Isla’s heart raced, fear creeping into the back of her mind. She hated feeling helpless, and right now, there was nothing she could do. She watched as several technicians gathered around her, each carrying a tray of instruments.
Isla's rebellious nature made her fight back every step of the way, but the sedatives they injected into her spine gradually dulled her senses. Her head was locked in place, a clamp pressing her firmly against the table as one of the technicians approached with an electric razor.
She felt the cold buzz of the razor as her hair was shaved away, inch by inch. Isla gritted her teeth, fury burning in her chest. The vibrant, colorful strands she had so carefully dyed over the years fell to the floor, leaving only the pale skin of her scalp exposed.
“Don’t worry,” one of the technicians said with a smirk. “You’ll get it back. Just... not in the way you think.”
Once her hair was gone, a sleek, lifelike mask was prepared. It wasn’t just any mask—it was a custom-made replica of Isla’s face, but enhanced in subtle ways. The contours were sharper, the cheekbones more pronounced, the lips fuller. It was Isla, but not the Isla she once was.
They glued the mask onto her skin, fusing it to her face so seamlessly that it became part of her. The technicians carefully applied a neon-blue and silver wig to the mask, styling it into the chaotic, rebellious look Isla had been known for.
Next came the injections. A single syringe was plunged into her spine, sending waves of nanobots coursing through her body. Isla groaned as her skin began to tingle, then burn. Her old skin slowly dissolved, melting away like wax as the nanobots did their work. The lab coat-clad figures watched closely as her new skin—the skin-suit—began to form. The syringe's formula wasn't just dissolving her old flesh for the suit to merge with—it was reworking her DNA, granting her powers that would soon manifest.
Layer by layer, the synthetic material bonded with her muscles, reshaping her body to Dr. Morioka’s specifications. Her limbs lengthened, her muscles grew denser, and her reflexes sharpened. The transformation was not just physical—it was biological. Every cell in her body was being rewritten, reformatted to fit the mold they had designed for her.
One of the final stages was the application of the contact lenses. Two bright, glowing lenses were placed on Isla's eyes, merging with her irises and giving her a cold, electrifying gaze. Her once sharp, blue eyes now had a faint, unnatural glow, radiating with the same energy that coursed through Amanda. It was as if her very soul had been altered to match the spectral power she wielded.
Her teeth were removed next, one by one, in a process that made Isla wince in pain despite the sedatives dulling her senses. The green light passed over her mouth, replacing her teeth with perfect, flawless replicas. But they were more than that—her new teeth were stronger, sharper, designed for combat as much as for appearance. A green light hovered over her lips, dissolving her old teeth in a blink of an eye. The technicians then crafted a new set of perfect teeth, ones that gleamed with an unsettling sharpness. The mouth she once had was replaced with a sleek, more powerful one, matching the enhanced visage of the fighter she was meant to portray.
Finally, the light reached her neck. They inserted a specialized device into her neck, changing the tone and depth of her voice. She would no longer sound like herself; instead, her speech would match the voice of the fighter. Isla felt a strange tingling sensation as her vocal cords were restructured. Her voice, once brash and youthful, deepened. When she tried to speak again, it was as if someone else’s voice came out—strong, powerful, commanding. “What have you done to me...?” she whispered, horrified at the sound of her own voice.
The final phase of the transformation involved suiting her up for battle. They started by applying a muscle suit that enhanced her physique, making her leaner and more agile, while padding her breasts and hips to give her a more formidable presence. The technicians meticulously molded her body into the perfect shape for the fighting style they had designed.
A thin sheath was applied to her nether regions, ensuring full control over every part of her body, while the rest of the skin-suit was fused to her legs and arms, making her body feel more powerful than ever before.
The skinsuit was next to apply once the suit was added. Isla can feel it as the robot arms as they begin sliding the suit over her legs, the material stretching and conforming to her new shape. As it enveloped her body, both the muscle suit and the skinsuit started fusing with her skin, the transition from artificial to natural indistinguishable. They continued, pulling the suit up over her torso, her arms, after enveloping her bottom. They continued until they reached her neck sealing the suit completing the look.
Once the physical body nearly complete, it was time for the suit—the final step to her new identity. Mechanical arms moved into position, carrying pieces of Isla’s iconic outfit.
First came the leggings and shorts combo, a pair of snug-fitting black and white shorts were slipped over Iris’s newly formed legs, now sculpted to match Isla’s athletic lower body. The material adhered tightly to her skin, almost like a second skin itself. A patterned tattoo appeared on her upper thigh, dark and intricate, completing the look.
Next, a white crop top was pulled over her, designed to emphasize the figure she'd gained. It had a plunging neckline, showing off just enough to capture Isla’s edgy yet athletic style. The black-and-yellow jacket followed, being placed over her shoulders. The oversized, hooded jacket draped loosely around her, giving her a casual but intimidating look. Its bright yellow popped against her dark attire, instantly transforming her into the street-smart and graffiti-wielding fighter.
The assistants carefully tightened the belt and accessories around her waist, securing Isla’s characteristic gear. Graffiti spray cans were attached, symbols of Isla’s rebellious street-style influence. They clicked into place with a satisfying sound as if sealing her identity.
Her shoes were next, the high-top sneakers Isla was known for—complete with vibrant orange and black colors. The laces were tied tight, and the mechanical arm adjusted the shoes to ensure a perfect fit, making sure that they hugged her feet as though they had always been a part of her.
Finally, her gloves were slipped on, the fingers outlined in vibrant purple. These gloves had an eerie glow, a subtle foreshadowing of the phantom hands, Amanda, that would soon come to life with her abilities.
The dress and the jacket weren’t just for show—it was armored, designed to resist physical damage while enhancing her movements. Her shorts and top were fitted with the same enhancements, allowing her to move faster and hit harder than ever.
As Isla’s eyes fluttered open, the transformation complete, she felt a surge of power, unlike anything she had ever experienced. Amanda floated nearby, more powerful than before, her spectral hands glowing with an intense purple light. Isla grinned, flexing her newly enhanced muscles. She was no longer the graffiti artist from the streets—she was something far more dangerous.
“What have you done to me?” Isla asked, her voice cold and calculating.
As the process continued, Iris was barely conscious. The robotic arms just now injected a chip at the back of her skull to symbolize all of Isla’s actions and abilities for the hypnosis set in her mind and had already injected a dose of hypnotic chemicals into her bloodstream, her mind slipping further and further away. The bright screen in front of her flashed a series of images and sounds—indistinct patterns, vivid bursts of color—designed to reprogram her subconscious. She felt her thoughts fragment and shatter, rearranging themselves into new patterns. A voice echoed through her mind: "You are no longer Iris. You are the new fighter. Embrace your power."
Her old life was absorbed, her memories locked away as the hypnosis completed. As the last effects of the serum took hold, Iris felt her consciousness slip away into sleep, like all the others before her.
She was no longer Iris. She had become something else entirely—a perfect fighter, powerful and obedient, awaiting the next stage of the Alchemists' plan.
Dr. Morioka stood behind the glass window of the lab, a shadowy figure bathed in cold fluorescent light. His eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and ambition as he watched the transformation complete before him. Isla—no, the girl who had once been Isla—stood before him now, her vibrant appearance radiating confidence, power, and obedience. Dr. Morioka smiled, pleased with the results. “I’ve made you perfect, Isla. Now, you are ready for the tournament. Only one more candidate till we can start the tournament.” Morioka said before he left the room to create his final combatant to enter the King of Fighters tournament.
