I never really bought into the whole “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” mantra. Especially not after the accident. One minute I’m cruising down the highway, tunes blasting, the next I’m waking up in a sterile hospital room with an IV in my arm and a chill I can’t shake. They told me I needed a blood transfusion, something about a rare type, and how lucky I was they had just the match. Lucky, huh?
At first, it was just the cold. Not your run-of-the-mill, need-a-sweater cold, but a deep, bone-aching chill that no amount of blankets could ward off.
In a moment of what I can only call desperation mixed with a touch of madness, I figured, hey, why not try some direct sun action? Vitamin D and all that jazz.
My apartment building has this tiny roof that’s pretty much ignored by everyone, which made it the perfect spot for my little experiment. Up I went, ditching the layers for, well, absolutely nothing. Laying there, stark naked, I felt the sun’s rays like a personal greeting from the universe itself. For a moment, just a brief, shining moment, the chill started to lose its grip.
But, as luck would have it, the universe wasn’t the only thing taking notice. Turns out, not everyone’s indifferent to the roof, especially when there’s a free show on display. I caught the glint of binoculars from the building across and nearly jumped out of my skin. I wrapped up faster than you can say “peeping tom.”
Then came the dreams, or nightmares, really. Vivid scenes of slithering through dark, damp places, my body elongating, my skin scaling. I’d wake up, heart pounding, only to find my room colder than when I’d fallen asleep.
But it didn’t stop at dreams. My senses heightened in ways I couldn’t explain. I could taste the air, smell emotions. Hunger, fear, joy—it all had a distinct flavor. And my reflexes, they sharpened too. I caught a fly in mid-air without looking, with my tongue… God, my tongue flicked out faster than thought. That’s when panic really set in.
I needed answers. The hospital was a dead end; they clammed up the second I mentioned the side effects. So, I did what any desperate person would—I broke into their medical records. That’s where I found it: a single line in my file that changed everything. “Subject 47 - Reptilian Hybridization Project.”
I wasn’t just recovering; I was evolving, or so they planned. Some clandestine group experimenting with human-reptile hybrids, and I was their latest guinea pig. The thought made my skin crawl, or maybe that was just the scales forming along my arms.
The deeper I dug, the clearer it became. This wasn’t about saving lives; it was about creating something new, something other. They wanted to blend human intelligence with reptilian resilience, create a being adapted for a world on the brink of ecological disaster. A next step in evolution, they called it. I called it a nightmare.
The more I resisted, the stronger the pull became. I found myself drawn to cold, dark places, my body moving with a grace and power that felt alien. And the reptiles, I could sense them, hear them. Snakes, lizards, even the occasional alligator (I live in Florida. We have a few of those here)—I felt a kinship, an understanding that transcended words.
While researching online, I stumbled upon a hidden forum, whispers of others like me. We’ve connected, sharing tips on controlling our new instincts. Together, we aren’t just surviving; we’re learning to thrive.
I’m writing this as a warning, from a makeshift den in the sewers, the only place that feels like home now. If you’re reading this, be careful where you get your blood from. You never know what’s really flowing through your veins. And to those behind the project, know this: I’m out here, and I’m not alone. We’re cold-blooded, yes, but we’re not without warmth. There’s a fire in us, a desire to reclaim our lives, our humanity. And we’ll stop at nothing to do just that.