Five days since transformation. Two days since leaving the boratory. One day since consuming the st of his emergency blood ration.

  Viktor staggered through the deserted streets as night fell, every sense painfully heightened yet somehow dulled by the all-consuming hunger. His scientific detachment—the careful observer documenting his condition—was slipping away, repced by something primal and desperate.

  His journal entries had grown shorter, more erratic:

  Day 5

  Hunger beyond description. Clinical terminology inadequate. Muscle tremors continuous. Auditory hallucinations? Heartbeats everywhere. Control... failing.

  He had hoped to find another medical facility, another boratory—anywhere that might house stored blood. Instead, he'd found only destruction and the occasional distant human, their heartbeats calling to him like sirens before he forced himself to move in the opposite direction.

  Now, in the darkness between burnt-out streetlights, Viktor knew he was approaching a breaking point. The pain had transcended physical discomfort, becoming a screaming need that consumed every thought. His vision pulsed red at the edges. His fangs remained permanently extended, cutting into his lower lip.

  I am still Viktor Petrov. I am still a scientist. I am still human.

  The mantra had less power with each repetition.

  A scream cut through the night—human, female, terrified. Viktor's head snapped toward the sound, his body responding before conscious thought. In his hunger-weakened state, he still moved with inhuman speed, following the sounds of conflict.

  In the shell of what had once been a convenience store, illuminated by a battery-powered ntern, Viktor found the source of the scream. A man—rge, armed with a makeshift club—was threatening a small family. A woman shielded a child no more than six years old while a slender man stood protectively before them, hands raised pcatingly.

  "Please," the father was saying, "take the supplies. Just let us go."

  "Supplies ain't enough anymore," the looter growled, gesturing with his club. "Gotta take precautions, you know? Can't have people knowing my location." His meaning was clear in his ft, merciless eyes.

  Viktor watched from the shadows, the scene triggering conflicting impulses. The predator in him registered five heartbeats—the looter's strong and steady, the others rapid with fear. The human in him recognized the imminent murder of innocents.

  For one terrible moment, he contempted waiting—letting the looter eliminate the others, then feeding on him without the complication of witnesses. The thought sickened him even as it formed.

  The looter raised his club. The child whimpered.

  Viktor moved.

  Later, he would struggle to reconstruct the precise sequence of events. His memory captured only fragments: His hand closing around the looter's weapon arm. The look of shock on the man's face. The sound of bone snapping beneath Viktor's grip. The thud as he smmed the rger man against a wall, pinning him there with strength that surprised even himself.

  What he remembered with perfect crity was the moment his control finally broke.

  The looter's pulse pounded in Viktor's ears, drowning out all other sounds. The scent of fear-sweat and adrenaline created an intoxicating perfume that obliterated rational thought. Viktor's mouth opened, fangs fully extended, and without further hesitation, he sank them into the struggling man's neck.

  The first taste of fresh human blood detonated Viktor's senses.

  Warmth. Life. Power.

  Every nerve ending exploded with sensation. The complex chemistry of living blood—the iron, the proteins, the hormones, the very essence of humanity—flooded through him, igniting responses throughout his transformed body. The coppery taste carried infinite complexity his scientific mind struggled to analyze even as primal satisfaction overwhelmed him.

  Viktor drank deeply, feeling strength return with each swallow. The pain that had consumed him for days vanished, repced by euphoric relief. The looter's struggles weakened, then ceased altogether.

  Some st fragment of humanity made Viktor pull away before he drained his victim completely. He released the man, who colpsed to the floor, pale and unconscious but still alive. Blood—hot and vital—stained Viktor's mouth and clothes.

  Reality crashed back with devastating crity.

  He had fed on a human being. Attacked him like the feral creatures he'd fled in the boratory. The fact that he'd chosen a violent criminal made little difference to the fundamental horror of what he'd become.

  Viktor turned slowly, remembering the witnesses.

  The family huddled against the far wall, frozen in terror. The young child buried her face in her mother's shoulder. The father stood protectively before them, a broken bottle now clutched in his shaking hand.

  "Stay back," the man warned, voice cracking. "We... we're grateful for your help, but please... just go."

  Viktor raised his hands, trying to appear non-threatening, painfully aware of the blood on his face. "I won't harm you," he said, his voice steadier than it had been in days. "I only wanted to help."

  "You're one of them," the woman whispered, clutching her child tighter. "The infected."

  Viktor couldn't deny it. "Yes," he admitted. "But I'm not... I still think. I'm still me." Even as he said it, he wondered if it was true. Would the real Viktor Petrov have attacked another human, regardless of justification?

  The family's fear was absolute, rational, and devastating. These people saw no distinction between him and the feral creatures that had destroyed their world. To them, he was simply another monster.

  "Please," the father said, his makeshift weapon trembling, "just leave us alone."

  Viktor nodded slowly, backing toward the exit. "Take his supplies," he said, gesturing to the unconscious looter. "And find better shelter. There are more dangerous things than me in the darkness now."

  He slipped away before they could respond, disappearing into the shadows with his newly restored strength. Their fear followed him like an accusation.

  For hours, Viktor roamed the devastated city, processing what had happened. The euphoria of feeding had faded, repced by a clearer head than he'd had in days—and with crity came self-disgust and analysis in equal measure.

  Near dawn, he found an abandoned apartment building that offered both shelter from daylight and a measure of security. The sixth-floor unit he selected had a reinforced door, likely installed before the outbreak by a security-conscious owner. The previous occupants were long gone, leaving behind personal effects that Viktor tried not to examine too closely.

  In the bathroom, he confronted his reflection. Blood had dried around his mouth and chin, dark against his pale skin. His eyes held a vibrant quality they'd cked during his hunger—a predator restored to strength. He methodically washed away the evidence of his feeding, watching red-tinged water spiral down the drain.

  Back in the apartment's living room, Viktor took out his journal and tablet, determined to impose scientific order on the chaotic experience. He wrote steadily, his handwriting now perfectly controlled:

  Day 5 (Post-Feeding Analysis)

  Subject: Viktor A. Petrov Source: Adult human male, approximately 35-40 years old Blood type: Unknown, though distinct metallic notes suggest possible A-positive Quantity consumed: Estimated 1.2-1.5 liters Method: Direct extraction via transformed canines

  Physical effects: - Immediate cessation of hunger pains - Significant strength increase (estimated 300% from pre-feeding state) - Enhanced sensory crity - Increased body temperature (temporary) - Heightened reflexes and coordination - Accelerated healing of minor abrasions acquired during days of weakness

  Psychological effects: - Initial euphoria bordering on delirium - Subsequent crity of thought - Emotional intensification - Enhanced recall and cognitive function - Predatory satisfaction (disturbing but undeniable)

  Comparative analysis: Fresh human blood produces effects exponentially more powerful than preserved samples. The difference cannot be overstated—like comparing a candle to the sun.

  Duration of effects: To be determined. Current hypothesis suggests 48-72 hours before hunger returns to critical levels.

  Ethical considerations: Subject selected target based on immediate threat to innocent lives. Feeding was controlled, non-lethal. Subject retained partial awareness throughout process.

  Despite these mitigating factors, the experience represents a profound loss of human identity and ethical boundaries. The hunger, when critical, overwhelms rational thought. Future feeding events must be approached with greater preparation and control methods.

  Viktor set his pen down and leaned back against the wall, the scientific nguage doing little to ease his turmoil. The euphemism "feeding event" couldn't disguise what had happened—he had attacked another human being and consumed his blood. The looter had been violent, dangerous, perhaps even murderous, but Viktor's choice hadn't been driven by justice. It had been hunger, opportunity, and instinct.

  Yet there had been a choice—a line he hadn't crossed. He had intervened to protect the family rather than attacking them. He had stopped before killing his victim. Something of Viktor Petrov remained, fighting against the monster he had become.

  Outside, the sky lightened toward dawn. Viktor secured the apartment's windows with bnkets and furniture, creating a darkened sanctuary. As he prepared for the daylight hours, he found himself thinking of the family he had both saved and terrified. Their faces—the child's buried against her mother's shoulder, the father's desperate courage—haunted him more than his victim's.

  They were right to fear him. Right to see him as one of "them"—the infected who had destroyed their world. No matter his intentions or remaining humanity, he had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

  Viktor settled into a corner of the darkened apartment, tablet and journal beside him. The scientific record would continue. The analysis would proceed. It was all he had left of his humanity—this methodical documentation of its loss.

  Yet as he drifted into the strange half-sleep of his transformed body, one thought provided cold comfort: When the hunger returned—and it would return—he at least knew what kind of predator he would choose to be.