She's not a mutant, is she? She can't possibly be a mutant. If she were a mutant, that Sentinel yesterday would've had something to say to her. Is she hallucinating? This is one hell of a hallucination, if so. The... whatever it was... has finished merging with her; her sheets still feel damp and unpleasantly gritty, but she's breathing real air now, the taste of oil fading from her tongue. She opens her eyes and sits up, venting a confused cough as she fumbles for the bedside lamp. Her sheets, surveyed in the light, are soaked with a red-black fluid unpleasantly similar to blood. Her skin is clear of it, though, and when she drags herself out of bed and removes her now thoroughly disgusting pajamas, she can watch fresh smears slowly fade from her hands.
It's early in the morning, well before dawn; moonlight spills between the curtains to compete with the dim yellow glow of the lamp. Her new sense combines seamlessly with the mundane view from her eyes, overlaying it somehow so that she can see both pictures at once without sacrificing any detail from either. Except that where her normal human vision is limited by light and direction and distance, the - life-sense? - is perfectly happy to tell her about the blood-soaked towel in her bathtub and the couple having sex across the hall and the spider snoozing in the ceiling and the roadkill smeared along the highway, all at the same time, bright and vivid and beautiful.
"What the fuck," she says aloud.
She sighs, and tries to turn her new senses inward. It's disturbingly easy. If she focuses right, she can watch her own cells divide. Her lifeforce shines a bright and bloody red, laced with threads of black; nothing else she can see has anything like those colours or that pattern. Nothing else she can see has a single solid colour like that at all; they shift, dreamlike, red edging into yellow, green to blue, blue to violet. Her own life stays the same, gleaming under her skin like bad cartoon lava.
Well. It doesn't take a genius to surmise that the new sense and the way she looks in it are both gifts from her nighttime visitor. The question is, what the fuck is she going to do about it?
If the replacement bus comes bright and early, she might be out of here before the hotel notices that her bed looks like she committed several murders in it. On the other hand she might not, and she doesn't have a good explanation. What the hell does she say, 'sorry, I think I was raped by an alien slime monster that gave me superpowers'? Yes, that'll go over well, particularly in this political climate.
Could she be a mutant? Is this what manifesting as a mutant is like??? She fucking well hopes not. Can the Sentinels even find mutants before they manifest, or is she in danger now that she wouldn't have been yesterday? Should she be bolting for the border as fast as she can go? Her new abilities don't seem obviously useful for that purpose; if she is in fact a mutant, she is probably just fucked.
In which case, regardless of whether she's going to die horribly later today and despite the fact that she is now completely spotless, the first thing she's going to do is take a fucking shower to get the memories off her skin.
She steps around the remains of a bug ground into the carpet, clearly visible to her new inner sight, and heads into the bathroom and picks up the bloodstained towel and—freezes. Because she can taste the traces of blood and brain under her hand, feel her new power absorbing them, sorting and analyzing the dead mutant's DNA and filing it away in some kind of metaphysical sample drawer.
"What the fuck???"
The towel does not volunteer a reply. She drops it on the floor and turns on the shower and scrubs herself pink. By the time she feels enough like herself again to go get dressed, it's well after sunrise, and the mess in her bed is even more obvious.