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Owen

Owen Jones wasn't a hypochondriac. But when he didn't get a single minute of sleep for the third time in a row, he started to worry. He knew insomnia was a thing that people got, but he had no idea it could be so sudden, or so strong that he couldn't find a moment of shut-eye for the past three days. Worst of all, the young man thought as he sat on his bed, staring at the wall of his room as the daylight slowly seeped in through the blinds, turning them slowly from a dark blueish color to a bright yellow, was that he wasn't even feeling tired. His body wasn't asking for sleep in any noticeable way. He felt as awake as if he had gotten a solid eight hours, maybe more.

Was he sick? He could tell he had a low grade fever rising on his forehead, but aside from that, there was no sign that something was wrong. Perhaps he was just nervous. Today was his graduation, after all.

After a solid ten minutes of pondering, Owen finally decided to crawl out of his bed, walk slowly towards his kitchen, turn on the coffee maker, and throw some bread in the oven. He leaned against the counter to stare some more at the rising sun, and continued pondering some more while he ate his breakfast. After two years of hard work, he would be finally getting his crowning achievement: a technical degree in graphic design at a small school downtown. Finally, he could call himself a professional. Or he would, if he hadn't learned that demand for his job in this city was so competitive he may as well have spent the past two years working at McDonald's.

But he'd worry about that later. Now, it was time to celebrate. After the small ceremony, he'd go visit his parents and later that night, he'd have some beers with his childhood friends. God knew he deserved it. Today would be a good day - hopefully, after all was done, he'll finally manage to get some sleep.

Owen turned on the radio as he stepped towards his bathroom. He looked at his reflection idly for a few moments, running his fingers through his brown hair. The news were droning on about the weather. Today was supposed to be a sunny day, with a few clouds in the sky to accompany it. Not bad for such an important date. More news. A murder downtown. Another one. Some politician said something dumb. Okay. Another report of infection. Infection?

"More victims of A3A1 have been found in the Saint Monica district. This time, a family of five." The presenter spoke with a surprisingly neutral tone. "Authorities suggest remaining calm and reporting any more signs of infection. A statement from the CDC reminds us that this is not yet an epidemy. Larry Johnson is here with us to give us a word about A3."

"Thanks, Lara. We remind everyone at home to remain calm. Yes, A3 is extremely dangerous, but changes of infection are small, and we're doing everything we can to control its spread. We ask the population to keep calm and cooperate with the respective authorities."

To be fair, the disease had earned its bad reputation. It spread through contaminated food and water, made its way to the host's nervous system, completely destroyed it and killed them mercilessly after what could be a single day or a whole week, depending on the victim. 100% death rate, not a single person had survived it so far. The government had done a good job of containing it. As soon as a town was suspected of having even a single infection, it was quickly quarantined and all its residents tested and treated. But cases kept happening, creeping closer and closer to the major cities.

When Owen came out of the bathroom, they were still talking about it. Honestly, the news was just milking the topic at this point.

"Why do we still keep hearing reports of this disease, Larry?"

"Well, Lara. A3 is a previously unknown kind of virus and it's notoriously difficult to eliminate, but we're making great advances in the development of a vaccine..."

Following the month or so after the discovery of the illness, the council had taken measures to clean food and water coming in and out of Mercher. A little annoying when water was out due to heavy treatment, but he could handle it. They said it would disappear in just a couple of weeks, that it was 'self limiting' and residents had nothing to worry about. Hey, it could be worse. At least it wasn't airborne. Now, that'd be some zombie stuff.

Owen adjusted his scarf as he walked hurriedly down the street of his apartment towards the bus stop, the thought lingered on the back of his head. What if he had the A3-A1 or whatever it was called? No way. Was insomnia one of the symptoms? He couldn't recall anything of the sort, but honestly, he had paid very little attention to what the news were saying about it. Was going to that 'graduation party' at James' rental house a mistake? No. He couldn't possibly be turning so paranoid that he would stop enjoying himself. This is the kind of thing that only happened to people who watched too much crap on the TV.

When he arrived at school, they were still preparing the small room for the ceremony. The school didn't even have a proper stage to perform the ceremony, but a large conference room had been arranged for the occasion, with chairs ordered along the room and a small projector at the center displaying large letters that said BEST WISHES CLASS 2021'. Honestly, though Owen had to admit some excitement over the whole ordeal, this was all a weird charade to hold students' certifications hostage until the main event. The school prided itself in being small and affordable, but damn, maybe he'd been better off climbing the ranks at some fast food joint.

Helping set the stage was Spencer, Owen's best friend in this mess of a school, fellow graduand... and recent boyfriend. The two started dating at the start of the semester, and so far he was happy. Spencer had become something of an emotional support during the long period.

"Well, looks like it's the end," Owen said, tapping his partner's shoulder, grinning back.

Spencer turned around, grinning back. "Oh, come on, you sound like it's the end of the world," he laughed, setting a large table where some of the school staff would sit.

"Maybe it is," Owen yawned. Hey, a yawn! Was it tiredness or boredom? "Did you find out what you're going to do next?"

Spencer had taken a few steps towards the podium, tapping the mic a few times, "I think my uncle wants me to work for him at his business. I convinced him he should, ah, expand his 'social media presence'"

Owen crossed his arms "I don't know how you do that thing where you just get people to do what you want," he smiled.

"I just say what I think!" he shrugged, "What about you? Found a job yet?"

"I think I'll try doing that freelancer business, heard it makes good money. Or not. My parents want me to pay them a visit, so that's what I'll be doing for the next week or so," he chuckled. As more people started pouring into the room, Owen took a seat somewhere close to the back. Students were slowly arriving, speaking in hushed voices and muttering to themselves. Behind them, were the guests, a handful of parents and teachers from other schools, who took their seats on the other side of the room. "Why do they have us do this?" Owen asked, "They should just give us the certification and be done with us."

Spencer bumped his shoulder, "Get in the spirit, man. We're finally making it!"

As loud ceremonial music started to fill the room, an older lady walked towards the podium and took the microphone.

"Be welcome, students, staff and guests. Today, we celebrate a proud day for our students, who have undertaken this journey at our institution to become professionals..."

The speech wasn't half bad, but the rest of the ceremony was excruciating. Owen found himself tapping his foot against the ground as every member of staff took the front of the room for their own speech. And then, one by one, every student walked forward to take their piece of cardboard and speak a few words. All forty of them - Maybe it wasn't so bad compared to other schools, but after about an hour or so, Owen noticed a chill going down his back. And then another. And another. Was he sick? His temperature was slowly rising. Not to worry. He just needed to handle another hour or so and he'd be free

Thankfully, it hadn't gotten so bad when it got to his turn to take his certification and give a few words. He would even say he nailed it, if it wasn't because everyone in the room was already too bored to clap. After the event ended, he excused himself and left. Lunch could come later.

"Already leaving?" Spencer cut his path.

"Yeah..." he said, looking back at the room, "I'm just not feeling so good... Think I just want to get to my folks' place."

"Do you want me to give you some company to the station?"

Owen smiled a little, "Sure.", he said, grabbing his partner's hand.

Along the way, he realized he had a slight stomach ache. They stopped at a drugstore and got himself some pain pills for the trip. Spencer had a worried expression.

"It's nothing, really." Owen faked a smile.

The walk to the station wasn't too eventful. It was less than half a mile away from the school, and Spencer's company did help ease the discomfort. And the worries that were slowly growing in the back of his head. Once they reached the train station, Spencer leaned into him and gave him a tight hug.

"Have a good trip, okay?"

Owen giggled a little, hugging back, "It's not like I'm leaving forever.", he chuckled, "I'll see you in a week."

"I know, I know." Spencer smiled, looking up at him, "We can do something fun when you come back."

"Right." He grinned.

The two exchanged a little kiss before Spencer left. Thankfully, the train didn't take long to arrive. Owen wasn't feeling so good when he entered, but he figured he could handle the ride home. He swallowed the pill and found an empty seat, pushing his worries to the back of his head.

Darius

The dim light of the street pole was a beacon in the night's darkness. He stood underneath, shifting nervously, a few minutes away from their destination, next to the gravel road where he'd left his car. Not a single house could be seen in the distance, although the faint lights of transmission towers still gave him a sense of direction.

Cigarettes still tasted well, he supposed, and did the job as always. He wondered if he should be more or less worried about the effects of burned tobacco on his lungs. People were already saying cigarettes were shit, and he had no reason to believe they'd become more or less shit after any of this.

The other car arrived just as he was about halfway through his vice. Pulling his coat closer over his face and covering his face with his hat, he walked towards his newly arrived partner. He felt silly, like a kid trying to imitate agents in detective movies. At least he had a good excuse.

"You're late," Darius said, "Be thankful our friends have been patient with us."

"Are we playing super spy, now?" Richard asked as he approached him, "Everyone at work was saying you were dead. I even tried calling your parents!"

"Guess not."

"You had to have seen my face when I saw you message," he continued, "I thought the whole operation was over. Did you fake your death or something?"

"Not really." He replied quietly. By the looks of it, the light was doing the job covering his head exceedingly well.

"I roamed the perimeter like ten times because I thought this would be a sick prank, or an ambush at worst," Rich wasn't much older than Darius, but his outbursts made him seem like he passed him by twenty years. "But here you are. In the flesh. And dressed like a fucking detective from an old movie or something..."

"There's a lot to explain, but we should go in now. You're doing the talking--"

"...So tell me what the fuck is going on or I'm not going anywhere." He said. Rich was always paranoid, but this was him at his worst.

Darius took a couple of steps backwards, "Wait--" he managed to say, before his partner took his hat.

"What the fuck?!" Rich yelped, stumbling backwards.

Instead of his partner's face, inside the coat was an animal of some sort. A canine, to be more specific. And as his eyes adjusted to the sight, he could see very clearly that it was a fox - fire red pelt, yellow eyes, pointy ears, a dark line crossing his muzzle, whiskers, the whole shebang.

"What the fuck!" Rich shouted again. And then laughed, and laughed, and laughed. He seemed a bit manic. "What kind of joke are you trying to pull...?"

The fox's jaw parted slightly. His lips were expressive, but revealed sharp teeth behind them. "Look, calm down," The fox said. "I was going to explain it to you sooner of later, but we need to do this."

Rich had already stood up. He seemed angry, and his hand reached towards the strange talking animal. "Darius!" he shouted, pressing onto his muzzle. The animal swatted his hand away. He was wearing gloves that matched the color of his wrist.

"Yes! Yes, it's me!" He shouted, "Will you calm down for once?"

Richard seemed a lot more interested in the canine's sharp teeth than his words. "Are you pulling a prank or something?"

"Why? Why...?" Darius said, leaning closer, rising anger in his voice, "Why would I try to pull a prank on you? Why? I didn't even want you to see me."

Rich seemed intimidated now, but not in the same way he'd react when threatened by another person. He stepped back the same way he'd back at a dangerous animal. He was panting in fear. "Back off." he managed to say.

Darius took a few steps back, realizing how worked up he had become. He was panting too. "Fuck..." he muttered.

Richard slowly stood up again, his eyes wide as he examined his fox-partner. His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to understand find some hidden secret.

"Take off that coat."

"What?"

"Take it off." he repeated, "I need to make sure."

"Why would I be trying to trick you!", he snapped, "You think I'd put this operation at risk for some stupid joke?" he balled his fist, but sighed after a moment. "If that's what it'll take." He said, unbuttoning his long coat and letting it drop to the ground. Underneath it, was the shape of a human-like creature, except it was now covered in thick pelt. He was wearing a simple blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Richard watched with his eyes narrowed. He was still deep in thought as he looked at his partner. "How?"

"I got infected."

"What?"

"I got infected. 'A3A1'. It's on the news."

"What?"

"Are you deaf or something?"

"Illnesses don't do... this!", he shouted.

Darius turned around in a second to face his partner, "I don't fucking know!" he shouted, "All I know, is that we have to get this intel. We're about to blow them wide open."

"We can't go inside with you looking like this! Are you nuts?"

"I'm the only one they trust! They won't give us shit if I'm not there."

"But you're not... yourself!"

"They don't have to see me. They just have to hear my voice. We've done it before, I'll stand on the back, you get the intel. Easy." Darius was almost pleading, "We've been at this for the past three years, Rich! You know this is the last meeting. We can't let it all go to waste."

"I don't know, I don't know.", Richard shook his head, "You should be at home resting. Waiting until this... runs its course or whatever."

"It's already ran its course." Darius sighed, "I've been waiting for weeks and weeks and weeks. I'm not going back to normal."

Richard stared at the ground, thinking deeply. It was hard to process, but he was slowly convincing himself that this was real. This was his partner. Was this some sort of strange dream?

Darius put on his coat, feeling slightly ashamed. "Let's go, then." Richard sighed, "And pray they don't see you."

And with that, the two set on their way through the grassy plain.

Owen

The pills had done shit except make him feel worse. Owen had spent the whole journey trying to hide his expression of anguish by looking out the window, which only made him feel worse. At least the train ride was only a couple of hours or so. He could feel shivers running down his back, making him feel colder and sicker. Goddammit. He stumbled out of train and walked down the train station with difficulty. He was close, so close.

Soon, he stood on the little town where he grew up, looking for a cab. Normally, he'd take the bus, or even walk, but it didn't feel like he could make it.

And before he knew it, he was doubling in pain on the street, spilling the contents of his stomach on the sidewalk. One, two, three times, feeling the acid on his mouth, leaving him with a sickening taste. It managed to calm his shivers a little, if only to stumble forward towards a waiting taxi.

"You okay, son?" the driver asked, handing him a plastic bag.

"Y-yeah... just get me to Harren street, p-please."

The ride took six minutes and costed six times more than it'd have costed him to walk fifty feet or so to the bus station and wait. At least he was home. Owen stumbled forward and did his best effort to try and open the door with his keys. The door open suddenly, sending him stumbling. It was his older sister. "Owen..."

Without replying, he ran towards the bathroom and once again spilled his guts out. Gods, he felt terrible.

"Owen, are you okay?" his sister hurried behind him, along with his dad.

"N-no... I'm just..." he looked up, embarrassed. "Just a stomach bug or something. Need to rest." He said.

"Your room is down the hall." his dad said.

"I know where my room is." he mumbled, walking hurriedly towards it and slumping in his bed.

And yet, he still couldn't sleep. His insomnia was still there. He was a shivering mess. Every ten minutes or so, he stood up to vomit, and eventually someone brought him an old bucket. For the first time in three days, he was so tired. And he couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep.

Oh god. He was going to die.

The rest of the afternoon took on a surreal turn. It was as if he was dreaming. He could see people walking into his room. People he didn't recognize. Shadows. Monsters. He squirmed away from them, but he could only move. Occasionally, he was lucid enough to contemplate the quiet in his room, before he was pulled to a feverish mess of hallucinations and sounds. His phone rang for what seemed like forever. It rang and rang and rang. His friends. He'd promised them a night out. Fuck.

Outside, people were talking about him. Newscasters. 'A3A1'. 'A3A1'. No way. No, he was too young. He was too young. He wanted to scream but it wouldn't let him. What a senseless end. The afternoon sun seeped through the window and make everything orange. Then everything was blue. Then it was dark. He was trapped in hell.

And finally, he managed to fall asleep.

It must have been the early morning, because there was no sound at all in the house. He opened his eyes and stared at his childhood room tinged a very dim blue. He blinked a few times. There was no pain, no fever, not even the slightest ache. He felt light as a feather, and very, very hungry. Was he cured?

Of course, there had been no 'A3A1'. He had been paranoid. The news had gotten to him, and played with his mind like a fiddle. Got a bad bug and thought he was going to die. What a silly thought.

Standing up slightly from his bed, he noticed there was still a tinge of surrealness in his room. Something was different. Perhaps he was still a bit sick. He'd laugh about this over breakfast. Carefully, he opened the door of his room and took a couple of steps towards the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he flicked on the light.

And let out a yelp.

In the mirror, a creature was staring back at him, just as startled. It took him a solid ten seconds to process what he was seeing. That creature was him. His heart suddenly raced again. He was hallucinating. No. He wasn't feeling ill. He... He looked at his hands. They were dark, coated in a pelt of thick fur. They looked more or less as they looked when he went to bed that night, except they were wrong. Thick pads covered the tips of his fingers, and each had a short claw sticking out of them.

Furthermore, he explored the creature in the mirror. Err... himself. It was... In any other circumstance he would have thought it was sort of adorable, but now was no that circumstance. His face was covered in white streaks that adorned an ocean of red. He brushed his nose. It was a small black dot on a fairly short white muzzle. His ears were tinged white, against the auburn color of his face. His back was the same auburn, while his chest and limbs were completely black.

And then there was the tail. It was auburn with red rings around it. And long. Long as hell. And it twitched madly. As it knocked down a couple of bottles from the dresser, he grabbed it. It only protested further, but at least it was under control.

Good lord, what had happened to him? He was... some sort of animal. He could figure out what later. It occurred to him that he might have lost his ability to speak, so he opened his mouth and made an 'A' sound.

Not only could he speak, but it was louder than he intended to. Quickly, he covered his mouth, and then that tail started swaying madly again. He grabbed it again and shut up. "dammit..." he muttered. He could still swear, at least.

No one could see him like this. Oh god, what if they discovered him? They'd do experiments on him. He was some sort of creature now, and someone would probably want to hunt him, or harvest his organs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Flicking off the light, he stepped out and darted towards his room. He closed the door and let out another yelp as he felt a jolt of pain on that tail. Fuck. Stupid, stupid limb. He couldn't even control it. He turned around and finally managed to close the door.

It looked like, despite his clumsiness, the house still slept. He had to think, and quick- Grabbing his phone, he opened the window and slipped out. As his feet touched ground, he turned to running as quick as he could, jumping over the fence, towards the woods behind. If he had become an animal, he'd have to live like one, at least for the time being.

Darius

Will sat on the other edge of the table as one of his men counted the stacks of bills, while the other simply stared at them. They hated doing that part, it felt like they were bribing him. Because they were bribing him. Darius stood on the back, farther away from the light, while Rich sat on the table, swallowing nervously.

Will loved playing the part of the successful drug lord - 'entrepreneur', as he called himself, but he was no entrepreneur. He was a snitch, and a damn easy one at that. A relatively small amount of money gave the two investigators more information than they could possibly want. And now they were so close to finishing this charade.

"It's good." One of the men said.

Will grinned, flashing his gold teeth. God, what a fucking cliché. He wished he could put the man in jail out of pure spite.

"Have to say, it's been a pleasure doing business with you," he said, pulling out a stack of manilla folders. Darius was almost salivating. After this, it would be in the hands of the federal agents to bust the whole thing open. "A little sad it's over. But you know what they say, smile not because it's over, but because it happened," he chuckled, "My daughter told me that one."

Rich tried to fake a smile, before immediately turning his attention on the folder. He opened it and peered at the contents. As promised, it was better than anything they could have expected, filled with photos and detailed locations. Maybe someone at the agency would finally be thankful after all this.

"Now you'll get your son's freedom and you'll see that asshole Vega rot in jail." He grabbed the folder and saved it in his jacket. "Thanks, William." Rich said dryly.

"Hey," he laughed, "Thanks to you. I know you two are men of your word.", he stood up and extended his hand, "A handshake for the good times?"

Good times? All this guy got was money.

Richard extended his hand without hesitation and shook it. Then, Will flashed his golden teeth one more time towards Darius. Rich looked back with another nervous swallow.

Darius walked forward, lowering his head under his hat. He let out his gloved hand out of his pocket, and grabbed William's in a handshake.

William chuckled, "Why all the mystery, Dar? We've known each other for years!". he grinned, "Come on, look at me when you shake my hand."

Rich interrupted, "We really should get going now," he said, "Thanks for your time."

"I said look at my eyes, Darius.", William said with a tone of anger. Before he could react, one of his men reached behind his hat and pulled it away. There was a general gasp in the room.

"What the hell!" William shouted, jerking his hand away.

"They brought a dog!", one of the men shouted.

It all happened too quickly, suddenly there was a hand grasping at Darius' face and body. In pure reflex, the fox-man turned around and digged his teeth in the skin of that forearm. The man let out a horrifying scream as blood poured out like a broken fountain, coating the vulpine muzzle. Both Rich and Darius ran for cover behind the furniture as everyone pulled out their guns. The worn-down shack was shaking violently as the loud noise of bullets filled the room.

Fuck. Bullets were loud. The fox-man had a pained expression in his face.

"Stop! This is all a misunderstanding!" Darius spat the blood that had filled his mouth.

"You traitors!" William shouted from behind the table, "This is how you pay me?!"

One well-aimed shot from Richard took out one of William's men. The other ran across the room, before stumbling violently. Darius had got him in the leg.

William was furious, and Rich was nowhere to be seen. He'd pushed a large shelf and hidden behind it. Holding out his gun, William limped forward. Darius cursed himself - he hadn't brought ammo for this shit. William looked around for a moment, before aiming at Darius. He seemed to hesitated. His face was filled with curiosity at the fox-man.

A loud bang brought Darius back to earth. Rich had shot him right between his head, and now his brain adorned the wall behind the desk. He fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Darius ran towards his partner and fell limply to his side.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, Richard."

The man and fox-man hurried towards the door. Darius fell to the grass, hitting his nose against the ground. He'd miscalculated the fall. "Fuck!" He shouted, panting saliva and blood.

"We got what we needed!"

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It wasn't supposed to end that way.", he said, taking a minute before regaining his composure, slowly standing up. "We almost died!"

Richard opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something, but shut up. The two walked in silence across the plain, illuminated by the moonlight. It was a fifteen minute walk to their cars.

Without saying a word, each of them got on their vehicle. Richard pulled off unceremoniously, leaving Darius in darkness.

The fox leaned against the steering wheel, panting, spitting blood. He had bitten someone. And that had fucked up the whole thing. "Fuck." He repeated for the upteenth time that night. He shouldn't have come. What kind of creature was he becoming?