Hunted, pt VI

Kitten and Lumina picked their way through the industrial outskirts, passing rusted scaffolds and the looming silhouettes of long-abandoned machinery. The hum of distant generators was the only sound piercing the otherwise quiet, still night. As they approached a chaotic sprawl of stacked shipping containers, each marked with graffiti and faded serial numbers, Lumina tightened her grip on her gear. Kitten glanced at her, smirking.

"Not getting cold feet, are you?" she whispered.

"Just staying alert," Lumina replied, her voice low.

They moved quietly until they reached a container with a flickering neon sign over the door, reading “Clinic” in cracked, barely legible letters. Kitten rolled her eyes at the irony and gave a soft knock.

After a tense pause, the door slid open with a creak, revealing the weary, haunted face of Dr. Xian, a man rumored to have once held a prestigious research position before being cast out for "unorthodox experimentation." His lab coat was stained and threadbare, his eyes bloodshot but sharp as he looked them over.

“Kitten. Lumina.” He nodded, beckoning them inside. “Didn’t expect to see you two out here. What do you need?”

Kitten wasted no time. “We’ve got a friend who’s… infected. She’s keeping control for now, but it’s only a matter of time before the virus takes over completely.”

Dr. Xian's mouth twisted in a grimace. “You’re talking about vampirism, then.”

“Yes,” Lumina said, her tone measured. “And we heard you might have a way to… manage it.”

Dr. Xian rubbed his chin, walking further into the container. Inside was a chaotic blend of salvaged medical equipment, cybernetic parts, and handwritten notes piled on every available surface. A few dusty jars held samples—one of which contained what looked disturbingly like a pickled vampiric claw.

He motioned them over to a console and tapped on a few keys, bringing up a series of scans and charts on the flickering screen. “I’ve spent years researching the virus. It’s almost symbiotic, really—a complete rewiring of the host’s biology and neurochemistry. But it’s not just a virus; it’s a predator in its own right. It's mutagenic, and can't be undone.”

Kitten crossed her arms. “So, no cure?”

Dr. Xian hesitated. “A true cure? No. But… I’ve developed a serum that could suppress the virus—temporarily. It won’t cure her, but it might keep the thirst at bay, reduce the… urges. It’s experimental and extremely volatile. There’s a chance it could just as easily speed up the infection if it doesn’t take.”

Kitten exchanged a glance with Lumina. “What’s the price?”

He tilted his head, looking at them both with a calculating expression. “The serum isn’t cheap, and it’s difficult to produce. I need rare compounds—nanite-infused biogel, grade-A blood filters, and a sample of stabilized human plasma. The plasma has to be untouched by enhancements or augmentations—pure, which isn’t easy to find these days.” His gaze flickered between them. “But if you can bring me these materials, I’ll synthesize enough to keep her stable for a month.”

Kitten clenched her fists. “A month?!” She exclaimed. “You want us to scavenge materials from across the sprawl for a mere month of treatment?”

Dr. Xian shrugged. “Give or take, yes. Or I can source them from an old colleague, but that won't be cheap. Either way, I can’t do it for free.”

Lumina considered the options. “We’ll get your stuff,” she said finally, her voice determined. “But you better make this work.”

Dr. Xian raised his hands in mock surrender. “As long as you get me what I need, I’ll deliver. I promise.”

After a tense silence, Kitten gave him a curt nod. “Fine. We’ll be back.”

As they left, Lumina cast a worried look at Kitten. “We don’t have much time. If Angie loses control before we get back, it’s over.”

Kitten’s jaw tightened. “Then we move fast.”

___

Back at the safehouse, Angie lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. The thirst clawed at her insides, relentless and all-consuming. She could feel her control slipping, little by little, like sand falling through her fingers. The gnawing hunger was becoming a constant presence, a shadow in her mind, whispering things she fought desperately to ignore.

Suddenly, she heard a faint shuffling noise outside the safehouse. Angie’s instincts sharpened, the thirst momentarily drowned out by a surge of adrenaline. She slipped from the cot, grabbing her blade, and crept toward the entrance.

A figure lurked in the shadows, their movements cautious and measured. Angie’s heart pounded. Was it an intruder? A threat?

As the figure stepped into the dim light spilling from the safehouse, Angie realized it was a young street urchin, likely no older than twelve. His clothes were torn and dirty, and he looked scared, glancing around as if expecting someone to chase him.

“Who are you?” Angie demanded, her voice harsher than she intended.

The boy froze, his eyes widening. “I-I’m just looking for somewhere to hide,” he stammered. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to intrude…”

Angie felt a pang of sympathy—then a surge of the hunger, stronger than before. She could hear his heartbeat, smell the faint scent of his blood, fresh and tantalizing. She clenched her fists, fighting against the sickening temptation.

“Get out,” she hissed, forcing herself to look away. “Go. Now.”

The boy hesitated, fear evident in his eyes. “But… please, I don’t have anywhere else—”

“I said get out!” Angie snapped, the hunger twisting her voice into something dark and feral. The boy stumbled back, his eyes filling with tears as he ran off into the night.

As soon as he was gone, Angie sank to her knees, gripping her head as she fought to regain control. The taste of blood lingered on her mind, an intoxicating reminder of just how close she was to losing herself completely.

“I can’t… I can’t hold out much longer,” she whispered to the empty room.