Venom dripped from Miguel's fangs, his ragged breaths spreading droplets in the air around him. His eyes flitted about wildly as he tried, desperately, to grip what little remained of his humanity. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, and he could hear his heartbeat inside his head, throbbing, drowning out all other sound.

He'd miscalculated his serum dosage, and something had gone very wrong. Every last one of his senses was screaming at him to hunt, to kill, to tear into the flesh of the weak and consume it.

His talons dug into the metallic table as he tried to steady himself to no avail, his thoughts quickly becoming swept up in a maelstrom of rage. The blood in his veins was as molten iron, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to the hunger.

"Aléjate de mí," he snarled. The table creaked underneath the force of his grip, the metal warping and bending as though it were made of paper. "Run."

It was a final, desperate warning to his most trusted friend. Friend? No. Prey.