Zombie Guy

Chapter 9: Denial

I woke up slowly, the edges of my consciousness piecing back together as if from a deep fog. For a few moments, I lay still, my mind sluggish, the dull ache in my limbs grounding me in reality. I shifted against the restraints, surprised to find them still holding me in place. I could've sworn I'd broken free of them—that I'd moved, done something—but the memories were blurry, slipping away like fragments of a half-forgotten nightmare.

I blinked, staring at the sterile ceiling above me, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly. Everything felt... off. My muscles were sore, like I'd been through some kind of physical battle, yet here I was, strapped in just as I'd been before. Maybe I'd imagined it. Maybe the treatment had messed with my mind more than I'd realized. Still, the sensation—the memory of someone being here, of my body moving on its own—it all felt too real.

I glanced around the small glass-walled cell, searching for some sign of what had happened. But the room was pristine, every tray in its place, no hint of struggle, no blood... nothing. I was alone, and there was no evidence that anyone had been here at all. My heart pounded harder as a growing confusion tugged at the back of my mind.

A click sounded from the intercom, followed by Dr. Hayes's familiar voice, calm and professional. "Kevin. How are you feeling?"

I turned my head toward the ceiling, where the speaker was mounted, relief spreading through me. "It's... over?" I managed to whisper, though my voice felt thick, strange, like my mouth wasn't quite working right.

"Yes, it's over. You may feel tired or disoriented—that's a typical response to the treatment," Dr. Hayes explained. "Rest assured, it's all part of the process."

A wave of relief washed over me. It was finally done. The hours of pain, the intensity of the transformation—all of it was behind me now. I forced a smile, letting myself relax against the restraints, feeling the tension leave my body. It was strange, though—my mouth felt stiff, as if it didn't fully remember how to form expressions. I tried to swallow, noticing that even that felt odd, like my throat had changed in some subtle way.

"Doc... I..." My voice caught, my throat tightening. I couldn't quite form the words I wanted to say. The strange sensation in my mouth made speaking awkward, foreign. I let it go for now, deciding that maybe it was just fatigue or a side effect that would pass in time.

As I lay there, I glanced to my left and right, catching a glimpse of the cells next to mine. The rows that had been full before now stood mostly empty, their sterile beds neatly made, monitors dark. I squinted, trying to see into the few cells that still had occupants. From this angle, though, the view was distorted by the glass walls and equipment in between. I could barely make out shapes—two others, lying still, unmoving.

A flicker of unease sparked in my chest, and I forced myself to look away. For now, I told myself, it was over. I was tired, but that was to be expected. I closed my eyes, letting Dr. Hayes's voice, calm and steady, reassure me as I drifted in and out of consciousness, hoping that the worst of it truly was behind me.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and a team of doctors entered, their white coats stiff, their movements controlled. They moved around me in silence, checking the monitors, recording numbers, not a single one of them looking me directly in the eye. A young woman stood closest to my bed, her hands trembling as she reached for my arm to take my blood pressure. She fumbled with the cuff, glancing at me for a brief second before turning her gaze back to her work, her eyes wide and... frightened?

The pressure of the cuff tightened around my arm as she adjusted it, her hand shaking so badly that she dropped the stethoscope. It clattered to the floor, and she froze, her face pale, before hastily crouching to retrieve it.