Of Monsters And Men | Discontinued |

Episode Twelve - Inhuman

"Why did you do this?" A familiar voice asks, voice rough, shrouded by anger. She, they, turn. She's still reveling in this change- something dark and uncomfortable slowly clouding her head until all she feels is the dark urge flowing down her skin and raising goosebumps along her arms and back. She pauses, smile falling from their lips. Kingpin. He made her hurt people. Women and kids- kids that didn't do anything. That feeling is thrown away, replaced by something cold and haunting and it hurts. She doesn't remember his name, can't remember, but there's a heavy throbbing knot in her stomach- he holds power over her, using her to do his dirty work. Rot grumbles wordlessly.

She hates the feeling that begins to roil in her stomach, wrapping her arms around herself, hinching her shoulders, folding into herself. Kingpin. She stares at the stranger, who isn't a stranger, really. The man in black tilts his head, seemingly staring her down. The Thing makes a noise of protest, warning her to be careful with her words, when she opens her mouth, but it doesn't stop her. "Why?"

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" She questions, nearly taken aback at how gravelly and deep her voice is. She doesn't want to think about Rot encasing her in its own body. The people at the lab told her that's what she's for. She's their pet, their puppet to drag around, to send of errands to kill enemies, innocent or not, and defend their own. She fought against them, tried not to let it get to her head- but it did. It did so many times. The Thing never covered her skin, then. No, the scientists kept it weak with fire and sounds, and kept her contained with sedatives that the Thing was too weak to fight off. Her fists clench and she grinds their razor sharp teeth together, biting into their own skin. They don't bleed.

The man scowls, raising a hand, and his voice.

"No. You don't get to decide this." He throws his arms out towards the bodies, breathing heavily. "Everyone deserves a second chance." The man all but roars, and she can nearly smell his anger, hear his heart hammering against his ribs and lungs.

"They transport children." She says, surprised when the words leave her throat. She doesn't even know that they do, she shouldn't, yet something, hidden behind that cloud of black fog in her head, does. The something is sinister and dark and she finds herself hating it, loathing how her unsteady hands stretch, distantly admiring how her nails glitter crimson. The feeling is wrong. Everything is. The thing inside of her, her own thoughts, her overwhelming exhilaration that came with ripping the men's throats out. Bile burns her nostrils. "They don't give them second chances." She adds, staring at the corpses littered across the asphalt. The man scowls, baring his teeth, furious snarl twisting into something mournful, dropping his arm, shaking his head. "I stopped them." She adds, shifting on her feet, straightening her back.

"No-" He tenses, shaking his head, chin tilting to the side. "No." He crouches, dragging his gloved hands across the ground. She can nearly see the bile rise in his throat. "You-" He chokes on air, hesitantly touching the nearest body to him, the one without a head. There's more, yet none within his reach. "You ate them?" His voice shakes in his throat. "What- what--?" He mumbles, a certain type of disgust and terror in his mumbled voice burning her chest like acid. She doesn't want to, yet she still flinches. "Y-You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to do any of this."

"I don't think I'm human anymore." She says, voice a low growl, and suddenly the Thing is sinking back into her, soaking into her skin, squirming itself into her chest and stomach. Her legs shrink and her head swims at the sudden shift in perception. She isn't sure what the Thing is trying to do. Make the man trust them? Remember them from before, when the man in black was chasing her? The man stares at her, slack jawed. The streetlight flickers to life, casting an eerie yellow glare across the ground, on her skin. Blood glitters. The puddles of crimson aren't growing anymore. She licks her lips, expecting to taste blood, only for there to be nothing.

The man slowly straightens, fists curling at his sides. The Thing growls at the motion, yet doesn't try to push against her stomach or cover her skin. She isn't sure whether to be relieved or not. "You're the woman that got hit by the car. The one that protected Claire. You- you ripped someone's throat out."

"I-" She hesitates, suddenly unsure if she should try to befriend this vigilante or not, the man whose fists are clenched at his sides, lungs heaving, teeth grinding. She tries not to recoil, not to cover her head and wait for the ringing to start again. That was always her punishment- the shrill ringing that tore her apart from the inside or fire. Fire that hurt so much more than it used to, surrounding her, burning circles into her skin with cigarettes. "I- my name is Evren ." Her voice wavers, her words weak. She swallows again, arms once more wrapping around her stomach. The Thing nudges her palm. She pulls her hands away. "I'm starting to remember things." The man sighs, quiet for several moments before ever so slowly shaking his head, muttering to himself so quietly she can't hear. "I still don't know who I am." The man scowls.

"You know--knew these men?"

"I don't- I don't know. Yes?" She answers, hesitantly, slowly moving towards the pile of boxes, keeping him in the corner of her vision as she approaches the crate that they all made a fuss over. What could be in a single crate that they wanted? "They said that I was a messenger for- for someone. I- I don't know who." She adds, gripping onto the top of the crate. She nearly jumps when she rips it off, much easier than she should have been able to, the top clattering to the ground. She pushes aside the paper shavings on the top, eyebrows furrowing. "They said that I was with his mutt, whoever that is."

Her heart leaps to her throat when her fingers brush against glass, clearing a spot large enough for the light to leak through. Inside of the smooth glass, something squirms, bright, sickly yellow. The Thing in her veins surges forward, knocking her backwards and forwards all at once. Glass shatters and something is trying to crawl up her skin, yet the Thing slaps it to the ground, backing away, shoving the man behind them when he tries to approach. The man is thrown to the ground, rolling a couple of feet away, blood staining his black clothes. They didn't push him hard, just enough to get him back. She glances at him, before the Thing turns their gaze back on the slime that crawled from the container.

Slime that's all too familiar.