(Not done yet!)
"It's the power of love! Die zombies!"
- Charm: Cobra-like hypnotism
- Adaptability: Mutant African hissing cockroach
- Planning: Needs serious development
- Survival Preparations: Needs development
- Weapons Skill: Yo yos don't count
- Intelligence: Wise, yet crazy
- Warm Fuzzies: Melting
- Leadership: Average
ENFPs (like all the Idealists) do not fight unless driven to it, and even then they may fight lukewarmly, hoping primarily to get away without hurting their adversary too badly. But there is an exception to this. If anyone tries to harm an ENFP's loved ones, they are DEAD.
In the first place, the ENFPs will unhesitantly employ the psychic terror attacks they have developed as they mutate (see the Idealist Survival Overview). In the second place, ENFPs are the type that goes berserk when challenged. Utterly forgetting their own safety as passionate rage sears through their soul, ENFPs rampage across the battlefield like whirling dervishes, killing a monster with each swing of their baseball bat or each bullet propelled from the smoking barrel of their gun. After the battle is won, the ENFP's friends will have to drag them off a zombie corpse as the ENFP continues to pulverize it with the bat.
The ENFP will be startled for a moment, then make a goofy face.
"Wow, that was sooo scary. Everybody okay? I think I got a splinter."
Newcomers to the group will take the leader aside and ask in a whisper, "Just what are they on?"
The natural partner for the ENFP is the INTJ Mastermind. But where does one meet INTJs? They are anti-social, and do not hang out at social gatherings.
Actually, you don't need to worry about finding one, because they will find you soon enough.
One of the unfortunate things that will happen to the mutating Idealists is that they will be hunted down by INTJs who want to extract their powers. How will the INTJs do this? They will do it by extracting the poor NF's very soul using their patent-pending Soul Extractor. Getting your soul sucked out will put a large bump in the road to self-actualization, so you should try to avoid this.
Unfortunately, sometimes getting captured by a mad scientist is one of those things that you just can't help. One second you're clambering over blocks of rubble, singing a cheerful song, the next thing an anti-grav car swoops down and there's a tranquilizer dart sticking out of your neck. When you wake up, you're strapped to a lab table, there's a psych inhibitor collar locked around your throat, and your soul is being extracted.
A common misconception about soul extraction is that it takes only a few minutes. In fact, it takes several weeks, because souls are actually quite large and process of rewriting them onto a mechanobrain is time consuming with current bit transfer rates. All of which means that you will have plenty of time to convince the INTJ (your future spouse) to leave their life of evil so they might be joined together in an eternal, deep, tender relationship of truest, purest love with you.
Your first meeting will go something like this:
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
The INTJ turns to you and declares confidently, "Love at first sight is simply a pheromonal response. The people involved smell a scent-marked difference between each other's DNA--the major histocompatibility complex, which is a part of the coding for the immune system--and are driven to mate with the goal of producing offspring having the most diverse immune response possible."
You grin at him. "You have a lovely major histocompatibility complex."
He freezes up like a deer in the headlights, then whirls around begins pushing buttons on his computer. (Pushing buttons on computers is courtship behavior for INTJs.)
It won't be long before you weaken his resolve.
He will begin to ask guilty little questions like, "Are the straps comfortable?" "Getting your soul sucked out doesn't hurt too badly, does it?" "Is the concrete slab in your cell soft enough?"
At last he will crack. Gloomily he will show you to the door of his secret fortress and say, "You can leave."
This is your cue to throw your arms around him squeeze him like a stress ball. "You're so cute! Let's go on a date!"
Once he gets over his state of frozen shock, he will immediately agree.
At first you will mortify every single one of his INTJ sensibilities by making physical contact with him, expressing your emotions (aloud), inviting your friends over to his secret fortress for a pool party in the old alligator pit, and otherwise acting like a normal human being. But after awhile he will grow accustomed to it, and even start opening up.
"It was kind of lonely around here before you came," he will admit one day.
"Awwww," you say, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm really glad you kidnapped me and tried to suck out my soul. I've never met anyone like you before."
With a shy smile, he will put an arm around you. From his point of view you are now married.
After the (Real) Marriage
Marrying an INTJ comes with side benefits. You alone will enjoy a lifetime supply of mutant crossbred narwhale-seagull-horses (or “unicorns” as you will call them) that your INTJ mate will lovingly provide for you to ride upon. Because of this, you will be the envy of all the other Idealists.
Another thing the INTJ will do for you is to create magical weapons, i.e. enchanted swords, shields, and armor. (Of course the INTJ will go to great lengths to explain that they aren’t really magical, it just seems that way because sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. But you won’t be listening because you’ll be so busy thinking about how you can’t wait to flambé evil-doers with your magical Sword of Power.)
For his part, the INTJ will spend the rest of his life secretly finding ways to sabotage your self actualization so that you will not be able to transform and leave him, never suspecting that you never would have done that in any case. It's okay, he isn't too worried (he assumes there is a technological means to become a creature of pure light and if necessary he could duplicate your experience under controlled conditions and follow you) but a little reassurance will go a long way towards easing your spouse's mind on this subject. Anyway, now you know why the telemarketers always call during your meditation hour.
Of course, being married to an INTJ comes with cons, too--i.e. being remorselessly pursued by the robot army he created to conquer the world before they rebelled and turned on their creator. The machines chase you and your spouse across all eight continents, including Atlantis. Your spouse always manages to stay one step ahead of the "cursed mechanical morons" but it seems to you as if the robots are slowly adapting to his strategems. Eventually your spouse will stop murmuring your name in his sleep and start crying, "They've got me! They've got me!"
As an NF, you have excellent diplomatic skills and a boundless capacity for bringing out the best in others. You think you see a solution to his problem.
At breakfast, as your bleary-eyed spouse pours nutrient fluid over his vitamin pellets, you suggest,
"Hey, why don't I go talk to the robots? Maybe if we told them that we're sorry--"
Nutrient fluid goes pouring across the table as the carton slips from his fingers. He stares at you in horror. "Don't even say that! Don't even think that! You'd be shot on sight."
You smile knowingly. "So what you're saying is that you don't want to have to apologize for enslaving them."
He glares at you. "Why should I have to apologize to soulless machines? I created them and the ingrates turned on me. If anything, they're the ones who should apologize to me."
"Someone has to be the bigger man," you say. "Why don't you call them up and just say, 'Hey, I made a mistake, sorry'?"
But the INTJ is extremely stubborn. Setting his face as he wipes up the nutrient fluid, he declares, "I've done nothing wrong. And anyway, they'd never believe me. Or if they did, it would only be a trick to make me lower my guard so that they could kill me."
"Maybe I could convince them--"
"No! You'll get yourself killed. Stay away from those robots, do you understand me? They're nothing but pure evil. I'm not kidding!"
You smile. In a rather supercilious tone, you say, "Yes dear."
Early next morning you kiss his cheek as he sleeps and set out. The exterior doors of the fortress no longer respond to your voice commands for some reason, so you crawl out of a ventilation shaft, swim the moat, scale the concrete wall, and clamber through two miles of concertina wire until you reach the edge of the defensive perimeter. Shouldering your pack and hefting your baseball bat, you head off with a smile on your lips and a song in your heart.
To be continued...