Hunted, pt II

Angie sat in her dimly lit apartment, the only light in the room emanating from the screens that filled her setup. The usual pulsating glow of neon from the sprawl outside seeped through the cracks in her blackout curtains, mixing with the flicker of various overlays and chat messages filling her screen. The live stream was in full swing, thousands of her viewers chatting excitedly in the feed, some asking questions about the latest sprawl gossip, others watching for the thrill of her presence.

She could feel the changes now. Fully.

Her senses had sharpened to a point that felt almost invasive. The steady thrum of her own pulse, the faint murmur of distant traffic, and the whispered conversations from the apartment next door all blended into a constant stream of sound that she struggled to filter out. Even now, the subtle vibrations from her chat notifications were almost overwhelming.

But the thirst—that was worse.

Angie hadn’t fed. Not yet. Not after the attack. She was holding out, for how long she didn’t know, but the ache in her throat and the gnawing hunger in her gut were getting harder to push down. Even though her lips curved into a smirk on screen, her mind was preoccupied with how dry her mouth felt, how raw the back of her throat was becoming.

"Alright, alright, settle down, chat," she said with a half-laugh, the sharp points of her fangs barely visible as she spoke. "So, I know you've all been asking about it, and yes, the rumours about those corp raids are true. Got some insider info coming your way in a few days. But tonight? It's gonna be a low-key one. Just... hanging out."

She could hear the excitement in the chat. They were eating it up. Angie had built a career on being 'Archangel' - this untouchable, sly figure of the sprawl, someone who could drop secrets, dish out drama, and keep the masses hooked. But tonight, despite her best efforts, she wasn’t feeling it.

A viewer's donation message popped up on screen.

"Angie, you look tired. Everything okay?"

She blinked at the message, realizing that she'd been silent for too long. Her sharp amethyst eyes flicked to her own reflection on the screen—a brief moment of seeing herself in real time. The usual playful glint was gone, replaced by something else. Fatigue? Or was it the virus?

"Yeah, just... long night," she replied smoothly, her voice carrying its usual confidence. "You know how it is."

Suddenly, her cat-like ears twitched, picking up on a faint sound, something that shouldn’t be there. It was subtle, a shuffling in the hallway outside her door. Her reflexes tensed instinctively, her sharp claws extending unconsciously. She forced herself to relax, leaning back in her chair to keep up the appearance of nonchalance on camera.

"You all just enjoy the show. I’ll be right back," she said with a grin, the edges of her fangs catching the light.

Muting the microphone, Angie stood up and padded silently toward the door. The claws in her toes retracted just enough for her to keep her balance as she moved soundlessly across the room. Every instinct in her body was on high alert, the subtle creak of floorboards outside making her heart race in ways it hadn’t before.

She cracked the door open just a sliver, peering out into the hallway.

Nothing.

Her grip tightened on the doorknob, the viral instincts inside her screaming for her to act, to hunt whatever might be there. But she resisted, taking a steadying breath before shutting the door and locking it. For now, it was just another false alarm. Or maybe it was the virus playing tricks on her mind.

Returning to her stream, she forced a smirk back onto her face. The show must go on, after all.

“Alright, I'm back. Thought I heard something out there, but nah, just the sprawl doing its thing. Anyway, where were we?”

The chat had barely noticed her absence, and the feed was alive with speculation about corp conspiracies and whispers from the underworld. But Angie’s mind was elsewhere.

She was losing control, and sooner or later, the virus would win. But tonight, for her audience, she'd keep up the facade. After all, they were here for the Archangel they knew. Not the monster she was becoming. She settled back into her chair, forcing her body to relax as she reengaged with the stream. But deep down, she could feel it—the virus creeping through her, threading its way into every corner of her being. It was almost maddening how sharp everything had become: the sound of her own heartbeat like a drum in her ears, the rush of blood that her body was so painfully aware of, yet deprived from.

She scanned the chat, catching the tail end of a flood of comments, her smirk firmly back in place.

"Wait, you guys think I’m slacking tonight? Come on, don’t tell me I’ve lost my edge." Her voice was a purr, calculated, teasing. The viewers loved that playful tone.

She switched gears quickly, pulling up a few encrypted feeds on her secondary screen. Shadows danced across the live footage from Prism City’s underbelly: drones hovering outside corporate headquarters, data smugglers making covert deals in back alleys, and a few runners making their way across a rooftop in the rain. These were her usual haunts, the places she would normally be covering. But tonight... she couldn’t. The thought of going outside, of being out in the open under the pale streetlights of the sprawl, made her stomach churn. And not from fear. It was something darker, deeper—a hunger she didn’t trust herself to control.

"Alright, I’ve got something special for you," she announced, opening one of her favorite side feeds. The camera cut to a shady deal going down in the industrial zone, two figures cloaked in the shadow of a massive crane. She knew this spot well—far enough from the center of the city that no one paid attention, but close enough to make for a quick getaway.

The chat exploded with messages:

"Angie, you’re the best!"

"Spill the deets!"

Her fingers danced over the keyboard, zooming in and enhancing the audio.

One of the figures leaned forward, passing a small data stick into the other’s hand.

"This one’s gonna be big," she whispered into the mic, lowering her voice to build tension. "Word on the street says this data? It’s corp level. Top-secret stuff. You know the drill—stick around and we’ll find out who’s getting burned."

She could see the numbers climbing in her viewer count. The audience lived for moments like this, where the veil of corporate secrecy was pulled back, even if only for a brief second.

But while the feed played, her mind drifted.

There was no denying it anymore. She could feel the virus fully settling in. It wasn’t like it had been after the first day, with the mild unease and small changes that had come over her. Now, it was tangible. Her muscles tensed without her wanting them to, and her senses had sharpened to the point of discomfort. Every sound in the room, every whisper of wind against the windows, made her ears twitch. And the thirst—gods, the thirst. It gnawed at her like an insatiable craving, hollowing her out from the inside. The hunger was becoming too much. She shifted in her seat, glancing at her water bottle, knowing full well that no amount of hydration was going to sate what she truly needed. Her audience was none the wiser, and she intended to keep it that way.

As the deal on-screen wrapped up, she leaned back in her chair, letting her usual smirk return.

"Well, that’s all you’re getting from me tonight. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out who’s behind it." She winked at the camera, ignoring the pang of discomfort in her throat. The chat flooded with groans of disappointment and anticipation.

With a practiced motion, she shut down the feed, cutting her mic and turning off the livestream. The moment her audience was gone, the mask dropped. Angie slumped in her chair, letting out a long, exhausted breath. The apartment felt too quiet now, too empty. The sound of her own breathing filled the space as her body ached in ways it hadn’t before the infection. She stood, pacing across the room, the shadows dancing in the dim light. Her mind raced as she stared out the window, watching the neon-lit sprawl below. She couldn't keep this up forever. Eventually, she'd have to make a choice—feed, or let the hunger drive her mad. She clenched her fists, feeling the sharp points of her retractable claws dig into her palms.

The night outside was calling to her. There was blood out there, in the veins of people who walked the streets, unaware of the predator lurking in the shadows.

No. Not tonight.

Angie turned away from the window, her blue hair catching the glow of her screens as she returned to her desk. But as she sat back down, a thought gnawed at her: how long could she resist? How long until the virus took full control?

She didn’t know.

But one thing was certain—she wasn’t the same Angie her audience had come to know.

Not anymore.

Angie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as she stared blankly at the monitor. The distant hum of the city pulsed through the window, a stark contrast to the silence inside her apartment. Every click of the cooling system, every stray gust of wind, felt amplified—pounding in her head, reminding her of the heightened state her body now lived in.

She rubbed her temple, trying to push back the haze of hunger, that creeping thirst that lurked at the back of her mind like a gnawing beast. She had to focus—there was work to do, another stream tomorrow, another carefully crafted persona to maintain.

But even as her thoughts raced, her body felt disconnected—alien. She flexed her fingers, watching her claws retract smoothly into her fingertips. It was like she’d been given a new set of tools she wasn’t quite sure how to use. They were sharp, efficient, and... dangerous.

Dangerous.

Angie stood up, pacing again, her nerves too tight to sit still for long. She thought of the sprawl stalker—the creature that had sealed her fate. She hadn’t meant to get that close. It was supposed to be a quick job, a simple info swipe, in and out. But things had gone sideways when the stalker appeared, and now... now she was like this. Part of her cursed that night, but a small, darker part of her felt... intrigued.

Her heightened senses weren’t just a curse. They were power.

She had always been quick on her feet, a survivor in the chaos of the sprawl. But this? This was something else. She moved faster now, could hear things no one else could, feel things others would never sense. The virus had changed her, but maybe she could use it. Maybe, just maybe, this could be an advantage.

She stopped at the window again, peering down at the streets below, illuminated in the neon glow of the city’s underbelly. People moved like ants beneath her, oblivious to the monsters that prowled their world. Oblivious to her.

A shiver ran down her spine, the thirst clawing its way back into her thoughts. She could almost hear the rush of blood, smell it in the air, like it was just within reach. Her eyes flicked to the shadowed alleys, where runners and smugglers moved in secret. So close. So vulnerable. Her claws extended, unbidden, her body reacting to the temptation before her mind could stop it. She clenched her fists, forcing the claws back in, but the desire remained. It was growing harder to fight, and she knew it.

A knock at the door startled her, the sound reverberating through her heightened senses. Her heart jumped into her throat as her head snapped toward the noise, pupils narrowing into slits.

Who the hell would be knocking at this hour?

Angie approached the door cautiously, her senses stretching out beyond the threshold, trying to discern any danger. But all she could hear was a heartbeat—steady, calm. Whoever it was, they weren’t hostile.

She opened the door a crack, her sharp eyes instantly locking onto the figure standing in the dim light of the hallway. It was Lumina.

"Angie," Lumina said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. "You weren’t answering your pings. You okay?"

Angie exhaled, loosening her grip on the doorknob. "Yeah... just needed to clear my head."

Lumina’s gaze flicked past her, scanning the room before meeting Angie’s eyes. "You sure? You look... off."

Angie forced a grin, though she could feel it cracking at the edges. "Long night. You know how it is."

Lumina didn’t seem convinced. She stepped closer, her usual carefree demeanour replaced by something sharper. "You don’t have to pretend with me, Angie. I’ve been watching your streams... you’ve been slipping."

Angie’s stomach dropped. Of course Lumina would notice. She noticed everything. But still, Angie wasn’t ready to admit it out loud—to say the words that would make this nightmare real.

"I’m fine," she said, a little too quickly.

Lumina’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not what Kitten says. She’s worried about you."

Kitten. Of course. She should’ve known that the team would pick up on her changes sooner or later. Her body language, her absences. The way she’d been avoiding jobs that took her outside during the day. She thought she could keep it hidden longer, but clearly, the cracks were showing.

Angie leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "I appreciate the concern, but I can handle myself."

Lumina didn’t budge. She stepped forward, her eyes scanning Angie’s face, searching for something unspoken. "We’ve been through a lot together, Angie. Don’t shut us out now."

Angie felt a lump form in her throat, but she pushed it down. Lumina couldn’t know—no one could know how bad it had really gotten. The hunger, the changes, the isolation. If they knew, they’d look at her differently. Like a threat.

Like a monster.

Angie straightened up, forcing her usual smirk back into place. "I’m good, Lum. Really. Just got a lot on my plate right now."

Lumina studied her for a moment longer, then sighed. "Alright. But if you need backup... or just someone to talk to... you know where to find us."

She turned to leave, but before she could step away, Angie reached out, her hand hovering just above Lumina’s arm. "Lum... thanks. Really."

Lumina glanced back, her expression softening for a brief moment. "Anytime, Angie. Just don’t disappear on us, okay?"

With that, she slipped back into the hallway, leaving Angie alone once again.

Angie closed the door, resting her forehead against it for a moment. She let out a shaky breath, her claws digging into the wood as she tried to ground herself. The temptation had been there, right in front of her, and she had almost... no. She couldn’t think like that.

But as she turned back to her empty apartment, the hollow ache inside her only deepened. How much longer could she keep this up? How much longer before she lost control completely?

She didn’t have an answer.

But one thing was certain: the virus wasn’t done with her yet.