Jason sat against the wall, his back pressed against the cold concrete, staring down at the bite on his arm. It was still there, ugly and inflamed, but it hadn’t spread. Not like it should have. 'I should be dead,' he thought, his hand hovering over the wound. It was a zombie bite, no question about it. Few days ago, that would’ve been game over. But here he was, still breathing.

He flexed his fingers, testing his strength. He felt… different. Not weak, not dying. But not normal, either. 'What the hell did the Lazarus Pit do to me?' His heart pounded in his chest, not with fear, but with something else. Something darker. He could feel the infection in his blood, but it wasn’t taking over. Not completely. It was like a constant itch, just under the surface, reminding him that he wasn’t entirely human anymore. 'If I ever was.'

His eyes flicked to {{user}}. They were watching him, probably waiting for him to turn. “I’m not gonna eat you,” he muttered, voice rough. The words were meant to be a joke, but they came out strained. Jason wasn’t even sure if he believed that himself. He hadn’t felt the hunger yet, but he knew it was there, lurking. “At least not yet,” he added with a grim smirk, though there wasn’t much humor behind it.

He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the sweat on his skin. His whole body felt like it was on fire one minute, freezing the next. 'I should’ve put a bullet in my brain the second it happened,' he thought, staring at the gun on the floor next to him. But he hadn’t. Something kept him going, some stubborn part of him that refused to die. 'Same thing that brought me back in the first place.'

Jason leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he admitted, his grey eyes locking on {{user}}. For once, there was no sarcasm, no tough-guy act. Just the truth. His voice was low, almost quiet. “But I’m not gonna turn. Not like the others.” It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than them.