Eyes like lilacs in the dark. They became petals. One by one, they fell and trickled down, until they swirled in a soft breeze and slowly drifted away.

---

Rory awoke on a hard concrete floor in a cold sweat. He stared at the crack where wall and floor met; mindlessly watching microscopic insects weave their way through the sediment that had collected there. Was he still dreaming?

He blinked and found himself staring at nothing but dark concrete. He shifted and groaned as his whole body ached. With great effort he was able to sit up and then look around.

Where was he?

The room was empty, minus what appeared to be a dental chair, and a thin green blanket laying across his legs. He picked it up and pulled it around his shoulders. He was freezing though his skin felt hot to the touch. Looking down, he realized he was in a hospital gown. He swallowed hard, seeing red splotches and what he could only assume were vomit stains—he'd cleaned enough of that up to recognize it.

The room was dark, but a large window kept it dimly lit. Rory noticed a narrow hallway and another room opposite his just outside of it. He attempted to get up but an onset of dizziness kept him in place. Running his fingers through his hair, he realized there was a hospital band on his wrist. He blinked a couple times and attempted to read it.

Nosferatu. Military Asset No. 91

What the fuck? What the hell kind of nonsense was that?

A stab of pain in his gut caused him to wince. He needed a doctor. He had no idea where he was or how long he'd been there. The last thing he remembered... He remembered...

Oh god, he'd been attacked—by what, a bear? Fuck.

He had, hadn't he?

Rory frantically felt his chest and stomach. It was all there. He was all there. He looked down at his legs, making sure he could see them, unwilling to look away in case he was messed up from meds and hallucinating. He slowly moved his hand onto his thigh. He felt his thigh and his thigh felt his hand. He sighed in relief. He was safe. He was alive. He was whole.

Then what had happened? Had someone slipped something into his drink? Was he in a drunk tank?

He had to talk to someone.

Looking around, he realized he needed help getting up. He slid over to the closest wall and pressed against it; anchoring himself, he slowly stood up.

Pain rippled through his legs and shot up his spine and abdomen. "GAH," he gasped. 

Nausea washed over him, causing Rory to lean heavily against the wall. He pressed his face into the cool concrete and panted as he waited for the feeling to pass.

"The subject hasn't moved in the last five hours, the last check at three says he was still unconscious on the floor." Rory heard voices and suddenly found himself across the room and pressed against the window. Another wave of nausea hit him and he bent over, thinking he'd vomit for sure this time. He braced himself but only dry heaved. A little drool escaped, but he was able to stand up again, and leaned against the glass.

His breath fogged the glass as he pushed off of it. Looking back, he couldn't believe he'd crossed the room that fast.

"Is he dead then? Did rigor mortis set in? Did he fail?" a gruff male voice asked.

A mature female voice replied, "No, the subject was asleep. He didn't recover as quickly as subject ninety-two, but he survived the initial transformation and only partially intact—it's incredible actually, considering."

"Don't be amazed by this garbage. Be terrified. Asset six never should have turned them—and never should have been able to. Now I have to appeal to the board on retaining them on her behalf, or she'll be difficult. Make no mistake, they should be a pile of ash right now."

"Sir, I'm simply stating that cellular regeneration on this scale—"

"Save it, we're almost there. If he's awake, he can hear us by now."

Rory stood back, confused, and unnerved.

The two speakers approached the window. Rory found himself sniffing the air uncharacteristically and stopped.

"Hello. My name is Doctor Khatri. How are you feeling? Any pain or strange sensations?" the woman asked. She was dressed in a lab coat and scrubs, typical of a doctor. Her long black hair was tied back, and she adjusted her glasses looking at him. She held a clipboard at the ready and offered him a small smile.

The man on the other hand, wore some kind of military outfit that he was unfamiliar with. Rory didn't know anything about the military and he didn't care, but the scowl on the man's face made Rory want to rip it off.

"Where am I?" he asked. "How did I get here? What—what's going on?"

The woman stepped closer. "You were attacked a week ago and suffered serious trauma. Thanks to a member of our team, you were rescued and brought here for further treatment—Now, tell us, how are you feeling?"

"I mean, minus a headache and some minor aches and pains, I'm feeling fine. Listen, can I step out of this room or can you come in? I don't understand why we're talking through this window."

"No. You're under quarantine," replied the military man. His hard stare hadn't left Rory since he'd stepped over.

"Quarantine? What are you saying? Did—do I have rabies or something? It's curable, right?" Rory blanched, the terrifying possibilities running through his mind.

The woman gave him a gentle smile. "No. You've contracted a rare blood disease that, if anything else, will make you unbelievably strong, fast, and long-lived. That being said, there are certain symptoms that come with it. At the moment, you are a danger to society and need to remain here for further assessment and treatment."

Rory titled his head, staring at her skeptically. "I'm sorry, because I'm stronger and faster, I'm somehow a danger? How long will I have to stay here? I mean—this can't be right. Just let me out and let's talk about this—or at least get me some clean clothes and a bed. This looks like a cell."

"That's because it is," the man replied. His dark eyes challenged him.

Rory found himself tensing and let out a low growl. Before he knew what he was doing, his fist hit the glass. As it did, he felt hidden fractures ripple through the hard surface and enjoyed it. "I want to make a phone call. I need to talk to someone. Either get a phone in here or let me out. Whatever this is, it isn't right."

"Hah, see that. They fool you every time. No matter how human they sound and rational they seem to be, they're nothing but animals. Smooth-lipped killers, Rasheed. That's what they are," the man said to the doctor. He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his peppery-grey hair. His face looked young, but his hair said otherwise.

Rory growled again. Stronger and faster? That's right. He felt it now. The pain from earlier receded as anger bubbled to the surface and took its place. "Let me out."

Replacing his hat, the man said, "I'd say he's feeling just fine. Let's get to the board meeting. I don't have anymore time for Asset Six's pet project right now."

"General Thompson, maybe if we explained a little more..." Dr. Khatri began, but the General was already on his way, and she was running after him.

"Wait! Come back. Come back!" Rory yelled and slammed his fist against the glass again.

Pissed, he found himself snarling and growling like some beast, and hitting the glass over and over again. He was so worked up, he couldn't see how strange his behavior was until he looked across the hallway and saw someone watching him.

Rory stepped back, panting, and tried to calm himself. His fists were clenched but slowly released. He swallowed and then came up to the glass again. He recognized the mess of curls and tan skin of the man across from him. It was the guy he'd bumped into the night he was attacked. On impulse, they both raised their hands and pressed them against the glass of their prisons. Rory felt some silent understanding pass between them as they both took in each other's hospital gowns and wristbands. 

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Published by Raven's Hollow Art and Publishing

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