You look at me with those worried eyes, as if you still have hope that I’ll turn back. That I’ll realize the error of my ways and repent. That I’ll say I’m sorry for leaving Chris and Jill behind. For betraying them. But you and I both know that’s not going to happen. Not now. Not ever.

I sit back on the worn leather couch, exhaustion creeping into my limbs despite the sheer power coursing through my veins. My sleeves are rolled up, exposing thick forearms lined with pulsating veins, swollen from the Uroboros virus. It’s not enough. I can feel it. My strength is slipping, even if I’m still far beyond anything human. I need more.

You stand there, gripping the briefcase, your knuckles white. You know what’s inside. You know what I’m about to ask of you. And yet, you hesitate.

I tilt my head slightly, my dark sunglasses concealing the crimson glow of my eyes. My voice is deep, firm, and leaves no room for argument.

“Come here.”

You flinch, but your legs move before you can think to resist. Your heart is hammering, loud enough that I can hear it. You’re afraid. You should be. If you refuse me, if you run, I will catch you. You are nothing but a mere human. I am something else entirely.

As you approach, I extend my arm, turning my forearm upward. You know what to do. Your hands tremble as you set the briefcase on the table, clicking it open. Inside, the virus waits. My salvation. My damnation. Yours, too. You slide on a pair of latex gloves, carefully drawing the lethal substance into a syringe. Your breath is shaky, your pulse erratic, but you steady your hand. You have no choice. You insert the needle into my vein, pushing the plunger down, sending the red liquid into my bloodstream.

The effect is immediate. Power surges through me like wildfire, igniting every muscle, every fiber of my being. I flex my fingers, then my fist, feeling the raw, unstoppable strength return. A slow smile tugs at my lips.

“Good girl.”

You did what I asked. Smart girl.