JONATHAN

It began with the fever. That much Jonathan remembered. There hadn't been any pain then, just the tightness in his chest and heaviness in his limbs. Then the pain had come, sudden and sharp, like a spike driven through his skull.

It wasn't supposed to hurt. No one had told him that it was going to hurt.

He lost count of how many scientists in armoured suits came in to hold him down and jam needles into his bruised arms and neck. Each time the red liquid disappeared from the syringe into his body, he could feel the burning sensation of it spreading, slow and heavy, down his neck, across his chest until every breath felt like he was pulling it through a thickening sludge. He fought the scientists with flailing uncooperative limbs, but they could not be deterred.

He tried to scream but when he opened his mouth, it was not a scream that emerged. Instead, it was a growl, a low desperate sound that was frightening even to his own ear.

The shapes of the scientists seemed to morph into terrifying shadowy creatures. Their suits transformed into fur, their needles into claws as they tore him to pieces.

His memories flickered like a broken film reel—his mother's smile, Evelyn's eyes—each image slipping away as quickly as it came. A part of him found dark humor in the slideshow, a twisted echo of the one they'd played at his mother's funeral set to Bob Dylan's Knockin' on Heaven's Door. He wasn't sure where it was all coming from but as they held him down, he held fast to his memories like a life raft until the images seemed to blur together and he could no longer recognize them.

He was thankful when the first blackout came and sent him spiraling into darkness.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

His mouth was dry. Even during one of his panic attacks, he'd never felt suffocated like this. Like his throat might crack if he tried to swallow, but the more he struggled, the worse it got. His breaths had turned to gasps as a strange, primal instinct took hold of him, urging him to breathe faster. But even then, the air hadn't come fast enough.

His thoughts, fragmented and shattered, had begun to slip in and out of focus the more he tried to concentrate, to think. He couldn't remember the last few minutes. Or maybe hours? Time felt... wrong.

There had been a sound in his head, a loud ringing that drowned out everything else like a battering ram against his eardrums.

Had it been there before?

He couldn't remember.

No. It was more than that.

There was something else there. Something humming beneath the sound—something primal. A need.

More than hunger, it was a need to bite, to tear flesh from bone.

The feeling terrified him, and he shoved himself into the corner of the room, pressing his back against the solidness of the wall and floor, burying his face in his hands—terrified of what he was becoming.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts away from the ringing, away from the hunger towards something familiar, but when he reached into his mind there were no thoughts that lasted long enough to comfort him. Then his mind latched on to a final memory. A simple melody and cadence of something long forgotten. His eyes fell on a box of crayons lying broken on the floor from some outburst he couldn't recall. The melody was already fading. He had to hold on to it. Write it down. Before it vanished too.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Emotional Response test, third attempt," the robotically female voice had drifted through the air. Jonathan hadn't known where it had come from, but by then, he hadn't cared anymore. His eyes had already begun to trick him and he knew he could no longer rely on his senses to tell him what was real.

Something—someone—had moved across the room. He hadn't even known who they were, but the sight of them had made his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear. His hands had twitched, fingers curling involuntarily, and his body had jerked toward them, compelled.

The person was pale, shaking, and the expression on their face had sent tingles down Jonathan's neck. His head pounded as it tried to comprehend the message their body language had been trying to convey, but those neural pathways had started to wither. Pain seared through his skull, nearly blinding him and he blinked rapidly trying to clear the fog.

As he stared at the person, the urge began to claw at his insides as raw craving burned through his veins, coursing through his bloodstream alongside the zombie blood and drugs injected into it.

He needed to bite, to scratch, to kill—he needed it. Now.

He didn't know when he'd begun to forget himself, but his war against the impulse for control over his body and mind, seemed decades old. The feeling of the saliva that dripped from his mouth, thick and foul, disgusted him but he couldn't stop it.

Finally, something inside him broke and he let it take control.
He surged forward, driven only by that primal urge to destroy.

His feet caught on the chains that held him to the floor and he hit the ground, hard. He'd bitten his tongue and taste of blood filled his mouth, but he didn't care. The overwhelming pain coming only second to the instinct. He strained at the end of his leash, bloodied hands reaching at the warm body who quickly exited the room.