The Formula

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Everywhere Felix went, there were monsters chasing him. Their teeth were huge and their claws sharp. Red, boiling eyes glared at him from all directions, set deep within tapered skulls. Some of the skulls only had a single eye, the other was gauged out, issuing blood as a young voice screamed endlessly in pain... Then, there was only fire.

Felix awoke with a start. He bolted upright, sitting up on his buttocks. He was perspiring, so he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. He seized, realizing something was off.

He patted himself all over. Straight legs covered in jeans, a flat chest and a short neck. Pink fingers and a nose filling only but a fraction his vision.

He was human again.

He gaped around. He was still in the hallway of the portable building. Last night...wasn't a dream, was it? He still felt aching in his sides and his head throbbed. It couldn't have been. There was no way he could imagine up something like that.

His senses were so much duller than before, his legs weak and shaking in comparison. Keeping a hand on his head, he stumbled his way back to the bathroom to look in the mirror once again. Sure enough, he was human again. Everything was still the same—including his ruined eye as well.

He pulled away from the mirror, hating the sight of himself without his Boxtons. He was confused as to how he could be a dragon during the night and a human in the morning. Would he change back again at night? Was he some kind of werewolf-dragon? He tugged at his shirt. If so, how was his clothing still intact?

Realizing something, he reached into his pocket and pulled his wallet free. A white piece of paper poked out, and he caught a glimpse of familiar handwriting.

He needed to talk to somebody—even if they didn't believe him, he needed to hear his own voice, needed some kind of human interaction. Perhaps to remind him that he was indeed human. Hopefully, they would tell him it was just sort of dream—that somebody had slipped a nasty drug in his morning coffee and he had actually been running around making a fool of himself without knowing it.

He would much prefer that possibility.

He couldn't go home, and there was only one other person he knew to go to.

Of all the days to give me your address, he thought with a smirk, pulling the paper from his wallet out, you picked a good one, Celia.

After finding the key to the company truck and a white shirt lying around, Felix retired one last time to the washroom. He ripped a section free of the garment, using it to form a makeshift eyepatch. It was a tad conspicuous, but was willing to risk it. He then let himself outside, careful to check that the coast was indeed clear. Nothing stirred.

The side panel was bashed up, and glass covered the passenger's seat, but the olive-painted truck would suit well to get him back to the city. To his relief, there was a GPS installed as well. He considered for a moment hiking back into the forest to try and find the facility where he had evidently escaped from. It must have been out there somewhere. He doubted he could find it anyway.

He turned his nose up at the dirty stink of the truck, but nevertheless settled down behind the wheel. The engine roared to life—a sound he hadn't heard for what seemed like forever. After plugging in Celia's address into the GPS, he hit the gas, spitting up gravel before the tires caught.

Fuelled by a new sense of bravery—was it something to do with the serum they injected?—he drove the truck straight through the main gates onto a wide dirt path cutting through the forest.

The drive was much longer than he was expecting. After at least half an hour of driving, he finally hit a paved road, only to discover another three hour's drive, according to the GPS.