Henry McCoy (i_thebeast) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2012-02-15 00:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | henry mccoy |
No Turning Back (Narrative)
Hank crouched in his swivling chair, staring at the silver screen in front of him, eyes sliding from the message to Dinah with the encouraging news about her latest blood samples to the near-empty lab table in front of him. The table in front of him was bare but for the needle, already full of the serum. A noxious greenish blue mixture that was thicker than water and unappealing to look at, but so beautiful in its promise... the real reason he'd been pulled out of his sleep. The thing he'd tried to ignore with the last remnants of the day's work from the night before.
His shirt and pants clung to his wirey frame, still damp with sweat from the fit he'd woken up in. It had almost been a full week since the last time he'd dreamed of Red, but then the fantasy hit, hard as ever, though this time that vampire and Hannibal had been there too. They'd been watching, mocking him, and right before he woke up in a panicked, enraged state he'd been struggling to extract himself from Red's bedsheets like an ensnared animal.
He'd hoped the dreams would be getting better, that the animalistic tendancies about his mannerisms would go away on their own, but that seemed to be little more than a hope. Still, he had the answer. He'd had it for a while, sitting in his fridge. And now he was settled, the team was established, he wasn't needed for anything immediately. Hadn't this been the time he'd been waiting for? And he'd discussed it with Dinah....
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He'd waited so long for this moment, but now that he was here he found his heart pounding just as hard as it had when he'd woken up with a yell.
He reached out, grabbing the needle and biting his lip, turning and sticking it in his foot before his fear and hesitency gained any more of a foothold. There was a rush as he pushed down on the syringe, administering the dose quickly and easily.
Moments passed by. Hank stared at the injection sight, waiting. His blood and body should have reacted quickly, like it did in the tests, though perhaps it was different on a larger scale. And then... Hank felt a twinge. He blinked, grimacing slightly, then let out a grunt as the twinge turned into an icy sensation shooting up his spine up from the injection site.
All at once it started to get hot. Hank looked down, breathing sharpening as he saw the veins on his still-prehensile feet start to stick out. It was getting stuffier in here, the air in the still lab was too stale to provide enough oxygen. A small part of the doctor knew he needed to stay, that he could get to the oxygen in the cabinet feet away, but the instincts he'd always felt tugging under the surface of his mind were reacting to the new sensations with panic and a need to escape. He needed fresh air.
Turning the young doctor fell off his chair, scrabbling to his feet and then staggering out of his lab. He pushed himself as fast as he could, the heavy panting turning into outright gasping . His conscious mind was being stifled, overshadowed by whatever he'd done to his body and the instincts raging against the chemical burn in his blood. Every time he blinked he lost time, and when he opened his eyes again he'd be somewhere else, hands and feet reaching for furniture, walls, doorways; any fixture he could stabalize himself against.
And suddenly he was outside. The cool evening air striking him violently and making his sweat-saturated clothing feel like icy blankets. Even that wasn't enough, though, and Hank almost collapsed as his heart started to pound hard enough that he was worried it would physically explode. Still, the cold gave him a moment of clarity, and looking down at his writhing, shifting flesh he suddenly felt the need to curse violently. If his tongue would work.
He groaned and rocked slightly, the conscious part of his brain cursing himself for sticking the needle in without at least having Hannibal there to help him. Watch him.
He let out a whimper as another wave of the white hot sensation swept through him, then let out a full throated scream as he heard something inside his own body crack. The scream cut out, though, wavering and then transforming. The decible wasn't human anymore, not even the stretch that Hank had managed once when he was hanging off of the vampire's neck. It was something else entirely, and it set all of his instincts into a panic unlike anything he'd ever known. He took off, running, racing across the street and leaping onto the cars as their horns blared and the drivers spun out. The horns and resulting crash sounds only pushed him to run harder, and without a backwards look he lept up and into the air, climbing to the rooftops and then taking off into the night. He was beyond noticing where he was, who he was, or that his entire body was shifting, bulking up, and growing a thick mat of blue fur. That claws were appearing at his toes and fingernails, the way his face was contorting and bulging and how suddenly his mouth was full of fang-like teeth. He was just running, without looking back, or ahead, or around.