Waking From a Dream

Cold. That was the first coherent thought that penetrated the red fog clouding Axel's consciousness. Frigid water lapped at his skin, each ripple sending fresh shivers through muscles he didn't remember possessing. The underside of the bridge loomed overhead like the ribcage of some prehistoric beast, graffiti tags and rust stains creating a mural of urban decay.

"Nnnghh..." The sound that escaped his throat was barely human - too deep, too raw. Fragments of memory strobed through his mind like a broken film projector:

Flash. Teeth and tendons and torn flesh.

Flash. Screaming. So much screaming.

Flash. Crimson painting white tiles in abstract patterns.

Flash. The meaty crack of bone giving way beneath inhuman strength.

"No... nonono..." His head throbbed with each pulse of remembered violence. The water around him was tinged pink - had he been bleeding? But there were no wounds, only smooth skin stretched over muscle he definitely hadn't possessed... before. 

Before what?

The screams echoed in his skull, a chorus of terror that threatened to split his head wide open. Faceless figures running, begging, dying. The wet sound of meat being separated from bone. The intoxicating copper-penny taste of... NO. He retched, but his stomach was emptier than his memories. At least it was now.

Did he just...ate...?

"Just a dream... just a fucked up dream..." But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were lies. The evidence was written in the changed topography of his body - lean muscle coiled beneath skin that bore no marks of the transformation he only half-remembered. His hands... god, his HANDS. They looked wrong somehow, too large, too capable of terrible things.

A whistle cut through his spiral of horror. "Well DAMN, sugar! You lose a bet or something? 'Cause that's one hell of a way to go skinny dipping!"

Axel's head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. A cluster of homeless gathered around a burning barrel stared back, their weathered faces showing more amusement than concern. The one who'd whistled - a woman with skin like cracked leather and eyes that had seen too much - gave him an appreciative once-over.

"Honey, if you're doing one of them artistic photo shoots, you picked the wrong bridge. Ain't nothing aesthetic about this dump." She cackled, elbowing her companion. "Unless you're going for that 'urban decay' bullshit the college kids love."

Heat rushed to Axel's face as he realized his state of undress. He moved to cover himself, but the motion felt wrong - his limbs were longer, muscles responding with alien grace. The water sluiced off his torso as he stood, revealing a physique that belonged on a Greek statue, not a high school sop- wait.

"Holy SHIT, kid's built like a brick shithouse!" Another vagrant chimed in, this one missing most of his teeth. "You one of them fitness whatevers? Cockroaches? Coaches.... yeah coaches?"

Axel caught his reflection in the murky water and nearly fell back in. The face staring back was his, but... different. Sharper. Older. The soft features of adolescence had been carved away, replaced by angles that would make a sculptor weep. And his body... Jesus Christ. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, abs defined enough to grate cheese, biceps that threatened to split skin. He looked like he could walk onto any NFL field and dominate.

"I... I need clothes," he managed, his voice a gravel-studded baritone that felt foreign in his throat. Wrong. Everything was WRONG.

The woman by the barrel snorted. "Ain't we all, sugar. But unless you're willing to trade whatever got you looking like that..." She gestured vaguely at his transformed physique. "Best I can offer is some blankets. Might have a spare coat that'll fit, if you're lucky."

More memories tried to surface - the sickening crunch of a skull giving way beneath his fist, the hot spray of arterial blood, the intoxicating rush of power as he... as he... Axel's knees went weak. The water suddenly looked inviting - maybe if he just let himself sink...

"Hey now, none of that thousand-yard stare business," the woman's voice cut through his darkness. Something soft and musty hit him in the face - an ancient army surplus blanket that smelled of campfire smoke and unwashed bodies. "Cover your shame, sugar. Pretty as you are, this ain't that kind of establishment."

Axel wrapped the scratchy fabric around his waist, trying to ignore how his hands shook. Every movement felt like operating someone else's body - too fluid, too powerful. Too violent. He could feel the coiled strength in his muscles, like a loaded gun waiting for a trigger pull. Too eager to pull the trigger.

"T-thanks," he stammered, taking a tentative step toward shore. His new center of gravity threw him off, but his reflexes compensated with predatory grace. "I don't... I can't..."

"Pay us back? Sugar, looking at you is payment enough." The woman's laughter held an edge of sympathy. "Though if you're offering..."

"MARGARET!" The toothless man cut her off. "Kid's clearly been through some shit. Look at his eyes."

Axel flinched. He didn't want to know what his eyes looked like - didn't want to see the reflection of whatever horror had birthed this new form. Fresh memories assaulted him:

Flash. A locker room turned abattoir.

Flash. Bleachers painted with arterial spray.

Flash. Uniforms torn to shreds, the letters and numbers obscured by...

"Gonna be sick," he managed before doubling over. Nothing came up but bile, burning his throat like acid. Each heave brought fresh images:

Flash. A face he almost recognized, features twisted in terror.

Flash. The satisfying pop of a shoulder being wrenched from its socket.

Flash. Blood-slick grass on the practice field, the goal posts casting long shadows like gallows...

"Here." A battered thermos appeared in his peripheral vision. "Coffee's shit, but it's hot."

Axel accepted with trembling hands, trying not to notice how easily his fingers dented the metal. The liquid inside was barely recognizable as coffee - more like engine oil that had achieved sentience - but the scalding heat helped ground him in reality. Or whatever twisted version of reality this was.

"You got somewhere to go, kid?" The toothless man's voice was gentler now. "Someone we can call?"

Home. The word echoed through Axel's mind like a gunshot. But the thought of returning there, of trying to explain... THIS... Mom would take one look and know. She always knew when something was wrong, even before... before...

"Can't... can't go home," he croaked. The mere thought sent fresh waves of panic through his system. What if he lost control again? What if the thing inside him - because there WAS something inside him now, curled like a sleeping dragon in his chest - what if it woke up? His mum... his sibling... oh god...

"Ain't that the universal truth," Margaret sighed. She rummaged through a shopping cart overflowing with salvaged treasures. "Got some clothes might fit. Previous owner ain't gonna need 'em anymore, God rest his soul."

The bundle she tossed him turned out to be a pair of track pants and a hoodie, both bearing the logo of the local university. The fabric stretched alarmingly across his new musculature, but it was better than nothing. Each movement was a study in controlled power - he could feel the strength thrumming through his body like a live wire.

"Thank you," he said, the words feeling inadequate. "I should... I need to..."

"Go?" Margaret's knowing smile held no judgment. "World ain't gonna stop spinning just 'cause you had a bad night, sugar. Though I gotta say..." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You might wanna avoid the high school for a while. Heard some nasty business went down there last night. Real nasty."

Axel's heart stopped. "W-what kind of business?"

"Don't rightly know," the toothless man cut in. "But emergency vehicles been running all night. Saw me some body bags too."

Body bags. The words hit like physical blows. Axel's enhanced muscles locked up, fight-or-flight instincts screaming in his skull. The thing in his chest stirred, hunger mixing with something darker - satisfaction?

"I... I have to..." The world started to grey out at the edges.

"GO," Margaret said firmly. "Whatever you're running from, sugar? It ain't caught up yet. Best keep it that way."

Axel didn't need to be told twice. He ran, each stride eating up impossible distances as his new body responded to panic with inhuman grace. Behind him, he heard Margaret mutter something that might have been a prayer.

The morning sun painted the city in shades of fire and blood, but Axel barely noticed. All he could see were the fragments of memory that refused to fade:

Flash. A championship banner torn down and used as a shroud.

Flash. Trophies reduced to golden shrapnel.

Flash. The scoreboard's final update: HOME TEAM - ELIMINATED

The thing in his chest purred, and somewhere in the distance, sirens began to wail.