Alex walked alone through the gutted remains of the *Ark Horizon's* lower decks, his boots clicking against the grated floor. The ship groaned around him, a dying beast with rusted veins and flickering lights. He dragged the tip of his dagger along the wall, leaving a thin, screeching scar in the metal. The sound made his teeth itch.
He liked it.
The others were back in the mess hall like a set of Fools. They hadn't embraced the truth yet—this ship wasn't a tomb. It was a **feast**. And he was the only one with the guts to eat.
A flicker of movement ahead.
Alex paused.
Five figures stepped from the shadows—colonists, but not his. Big men, the kind who'd been muscle before the world ended. Their leader, a slab-faced brute with a shaved head and a pulse pistol strapped to his thigh, grinned.
*"Well, well. The monster walks alone."*
Alex tilted his head. *"You're in my way."*
The brute laughed. *"Yeah? And what're you gonna do about it, freak? You ain't got your little cult here to—"*
Alex moved.
Fast.
But not fast enough.
A pipe cracked across his ribs. Pain exploded through his side, and he stumbled, his dagger skittering across the floor. A fist smashed into his jaw, snapping his head back. He tasted blood.
The men circled him, laughing now.
*"Look at him! All that talk, and he folds like paper!"*
Another kick. Alex hit the wall, his vision swimming. His fingers brushed the hilt of his fallen dagger—
—and something in his skull **unlocked**.
A voice, cold and familiar, slithered up from the dark of his mind:
**"Let me out."**
Alex grinned, blood dripping between his teeth.
*"Fine."*
One moment, Alex was on his knees, gasping.
The next—
He wasn't *Alex* anymore.
His body moved before he thought. The dagger was in his hand, then buried in the bald man's throat. The blade tore upward, splitting flesh like wet cloth. The man's scream died in a gurgle as his head **tipped**, barely hanging on by a strip of sinew.
The others froze.
Alex—no, the *thing* wearing his skin—licked the blood from the blade.
*"Run,"* it whispered.
They ran.
But it was already hunting.
The first man made it three steps before Alex's dagger **thunked** into his spine. He collapsed, twitching, as Alex wrenched the blade free and kept walking.
The second man tripped, scrambling backward. *"P-please—"*
Alex grabbed his hair and **slammed** his face into the wall. Once. Twice. Until the skull cracked like an egg.
The third man turned, raising his pulse pistol—
—and Alex **Dodge** the shot, his body dashing to the side. His hand closed around the man's wrist and **crushed** it. Bone snapped. The pistol clattered to the floor.
*"You shouldn't have touched me,"* Alex murmured, before driving his thumb into the man's eye.
The fourth man was already gone, vanishing around a corner.
Alex decided to let him go.