Of Monsters And Men | Discontinued |

Episode Eight - Control

'Hungry.'

The people who put this thing in her have to be looking for her- she was their puppet, and now she's gone. They might be waiting to see how that Thing inside of her changes her when they finally capture them. She doesn't want to get caught. She sticks to the shadows, moving slowly, yet fast enough to blend right into the crowds until she's nothing but invisible, no gaze landing on her for too long, simply skipping over her and moving elsewhere. Just like she needs to be. Invisible, silent. Ignored.

Again, that odd thrum moves through her veins. It isn't the Thing, something else entirely. Something else that seems just as bad as the Thing, yet her own being. She isn't sure why the idea of stealing makes her more uneasy than it was beating those men in that nurses apartment before running.

'Weak.' For some reason, the word makes her cower beneath her own skin, hidden by the eyes of anyone that glances at her. The aisle is empty, but her stomach still churns as she grabs handfuls of chocolates, confused at the feeling of enjoyment growing hotter through her chest and stomach, shoving them down her shirt, in her bra, the paper digging into her skin. The wrappers drag against her stomach. Her spine stiffens uncomfortably in its place. The Thing pushes her onwards, until she's wandering down the meat aisle, hefting up packages of lamb and pork with arms that she isn't controlling anymore, her feet moving towards the back of the large store, straight into a private bathroom, locking it behind her.

She isn't sure what quite happens, from one minute to the next. One second she's in the bathroom, a mere flinch away from blinking as a fly buzzes by her face, then she's nowhere. Her limbs aren't her own and her vision is different. Smells and sounds and everything is overwhelming and the meat is falling down her throat-- but it isn't her throat-- and there's something covering her skin, encasing her, and she's trying to struggle but can't move, can't open her eyes, yet can't close them either.

She's stuck in limbo of consciousness and wishing to shut her numb eyelids and fade into nothing. She can't help but feel weak, once more, terrified for her own life as the Thing that's inside of her is on the outside, too.

Then it's gone, and she's left with nothing in her hands and nothing in her shirt, but a sense of unease that makes her throat constrict and heart quiver. The Thing makes her walk from the store as the sun rises, even when her head spins with an eerie mix of horror and disgust. The Thing is sentient, and she's nothing but powerless to it. It can kill her and move on to a new host at any time. It's so easy to understand, yet she can't help but wonder why it hasn't killed her yet. It could be too weak to move on, yet that doesn't make sense. It could have formed an attachment to this host, to her-- no matter how temporary of a host she is.

'Host.' The Thing growls, curtly. She rapidly nods, trying to appease it through her confusion. Her heart is pounding and her clothes are too itchy, too tight, dried blood pinching and stinging her skin. Cold washes over her and she groans, raising a hand to her chest, back falling against the wall of the store, coated by shadows. 'Don't want to kill you that much anymore.'

Her stomach falls at the same moment her mouth tugs into a hesitant smile. They're making progress, as little as it is. The Thing doesn't want to kill her, and she's slowly getting used to the unfamiliar and uncomfortable fluid running through her veins. Her brain is muddled and everything seems to tingle with a pain that isn't there. She's left delirious and tired, dragging her feet on the ground, falling down an alley and slumping against a wall, sheltered between dumpsters, before the Thing makes her eyes heavy and forces her to sleep. She isn't sure whether to thank it for not.

She wakes up to a thump. The Thing moves quickly beneath her veins, pushing her up onto her feet and into a stance that isn't familiar to her- but it feels defensive and offensive all at once. Someone used to yell at her to bend her knees, to keep them shoulder width apart. When she looks down, just a glance, her feet are stretched far apart, knees bent, fists lifted to her chest. She drags her gaze back up, landing on a figure cloaked in black.

"Why did you leave?" The Thing drops the stance, falling back into her until she can hardly feel it anymore, until she can't tell where she ends and It starts. She shifts on her feet, wondering if she can remember more, if she tries, if she forces herself to copy the stance that the Thing made her shift into.

"Claire said you helped protect her. Said something came out of you." He pauses. "Thank you." She isn't sure why he's thanking her. She eyes him, skeptically. "But why did you leave? She can help you, she's a nurse. I-I--" His voice falls into a growl of frustration. "I can smell the drugs and whatever it is that's inside you." She scowls. The Thing hisses, guttural and low, and it makes her flinch, although the sound was between her own ears. The man suffles forward, carefully. "I can protect you, help you."

"No- No." She responds, voice trembling in her throat. "People- they're after me for-for this." She adds, shakily, gesturing over herself. She doesn't even know how to explain it, least of all to a man in a mask, who's most likely the one that slapped her head against the ground and left her defenceless. The Thing didn't even bother to help her, then. "I-I don't even know what they want from me. They just took me and now I can hardly remember anything. I don't- I don't even remember my parents names or what my job was or if I have a family."

She stutters, eyes burning, cheeks cool against warm tears that slip to her chin, then down her throat. The Thing hisses, low and feral.

"I don't know who I am."