Chapter : Losing Control

[D A R R I C K] Darrick sat at their usual table, the corner spot they'd claimed weeks ago, surrounded by the usual crowd of Cole, Austin, and Jace. The smell of dinner—roast meat, potatoes, steamed vegetables—filled the air, but to Darrick, it barely registered. His stomach roared like a caged animal, demanding to be fed.

His tray was piled high—higher than anyone else's at the table. Stacks of roasted chicken legs, heaps of mashed potatoes drowned in gravy, rolls balanced precariously on the edge. The sight of it was enough to make Cole raise an eyebrow as he jabbed a fork into his own modest portion of food.

"Geez, Darrick, planning on feeding a small army?" Cole quipped, smirking as he gestured toward the mountain of food.

Darrick didn't answer immediately, too focused on tearing into a chicken leg with sharp, ravenous bites. The tender meat practically melted in his mouth, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. He swallowed hard, barely pausing to breathe before reaching for the next piece.

Austin leaned back in his chair, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he watched Darrick devour his meal like a man starved. "You good, man? You've been eating like this all week."

Darrick grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fine," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He tore into another piece of chicken, his jaw working relentlessly. The hunger was relentless, a bottomless pit that no amount of food seemed to fill. It clawed at him, twisting his stomach into knots even as he stuffed himself.

Jace, seated across from him, pushed his half-empty plate away, his face a mix of concern and mild disgust. "You sure? You're eating like you've been stranded on a desert island or something."

Darrick shot him a sharp glance but didn't respond. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small pill bottle Lydia had given him. The white plastic felt heavier than it should, the small label glaring up at him like an accusation: Dosage: Twice daily.

He twisted off the cap and shook out a single pill, the tiny tablet sitting in his palm like a challenge. He popped it into his mouth, chasing it with a long swig of water. The pill slid down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste that made him grimace.

Cole leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied Darrick. "Those pills supposed to help with stabilising you, right? Maybe they're messing with your appetite too."

Darrick shrugged, his movements stiff. "Maybe," he said, though the word felt hollow. He didn't want to admit how out of control he felt, how the hunger wasn't just physical—it was deeper than that, primal in a way that scared him.

"You should ask Lydia about it," Austin said, his voice low but firm. "If the pills are doing something they're not supposed to, you need to know."

Darrick stabbed his fork into a pile of mashed potatoes, his grip tightening on the handle. "I'm fine," he said, his tone sharper than he intended. "It's just a side effect. Nothing I can't handle."

The table fell silent for a moment, the tension thick in the air. Cole exchanged a glance with Austin, but neither of them pressed further. Jace, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat and changed the subject, launching into a story about one of their recreation sessions that week. The others joined in, their laughter and banter filling the space.

Darrick, however, barely heard them. He focused on his food, on the relentless gnawing in his stomach that no amount of chicken, potatoes, or rolls could satisfy. He thought about Tess, safe in her dorm in the human sector, resting after another exhausting day. He'd let her go back alone tonight, not wanting to burden her with his restlessness. But even as he shoveled food into his mouth, his thoughts kept drifting back to her.

The memory of her tiny form in his hands, the warmth of her skin against his, the sound of her voice—it all lingered in his mind, mingling with the hunger in a way that made his chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the meal in front of him.

"Yo, Darrick," Cole's voice cut through his thoughts. "You're gonna eat that roll, or can I have it?"

Darrick blinked, realizing he'd been gripping the roll so tightly it had started to crumble in his hand. He shoved it toward Cole without a word, his appetite momentarily fading under the weight of his thoughts.

"Thanks," Cole said, popping the roll into his mouth without hesitation.

As the others continued their conversation, Darrick sat back in his chair, his plate nearly empty but the hunger still clawing at him. He stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if to remind himself that he was in control—that he had to be in control.

But deep down, he wasn't so sure.

The dinner table buzzed with chatter, the sounds of Cole's jokes and Jace's exaggerated retelling of a recreation session weaving in and out of Darrick's consciousness. But Darrick barely heard a word. His body felt wrong suddenly, like a wave hitting him in the face . It wasn't just the usual aches or hunger—it was something deeper, more insidious, like his very cells were revolting against him.

He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. The room seemed to spin slightly, the edges of his vision blurring. His stomach churned violently, making him feel like he'd swallowed a brick. His mouth began to water uncontrollably, saliva pooling so thickly he had to swallow every few seconds to keep from drooling outright.

"You good, man?" Austin asked, his voice cutting through the haze. His blue eyes narrowed with concern as he leaned toward Darrick.

Darrick shook his head slightly, his jaw tight. "Yeah... I just—" He paused, swallowing hard as a fresh wave of nausea hit him. "I think I overdid it with the food."

"That's an understatement," Cole quipped, gesturing to Darrick's now-empty tray. "You ate like the apocalypse was coming."

Darrick pushed back his chair abruptly, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. "I need some air," he muttered, his voice strained. Without waiting for a response, he stood and started toward the door, his long strides unsteady but purposeful.

The hallway outside the cafeteria felt colder, the fluorescent lights above casting harsh reflections on the polished floors. Darrick's stomach twisted painfully, and his headache pounded in time with his racing heartbeat. Every step felt heavier than the last, his muscles tensing and twitching in ways that made him want to stop moving entirely.

His mouth was drooling now—thick, uncontrollable tendrils of saliva slipping past his lips no matter how hard he tried to keep it in check. He wiped at his chin with the back of his hand, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts

What the hell is happening to me? he thought, panic clawing at the edges of his mind. He had taken the pill after dinner, just like Lydia had instructed. Was this a side effect? Or was it something worse?

The communal bathrooms were just ahead, the large steel door slightly ajar. He pushed it open with more force than necessary, the door swinging inward with a metallic creak. The sterile scent of bleach and soap filled his nostrils as he stumbled inside, his legs barely supporting him.

Gripping the edge of one of the sinks, Darrick leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching the mirror. He stared at his reflection, his face pale and damp with sweat. His hazel eyes looked wild, his pupils blown wide. Long tendrils of saliva dripped from his mouth, pooling in the sink below. Was he having a seizure of sorts? He looked like a feral animal. He spat into the basin, but it didn't stop—his mouth kept producing more, as if his body were preparing for something he didn't understand.

And then it hit.

A sharp, searing pain tore through his body, making him gasp and clutch the edge of the sink for support. He gasped at the pain, head rearing in utter shock. His muscles spasmed violently, his vision blurring as the room seemed to tilt around him. He tried to steady himself, but his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the tiled floor with a loud thud.

The pain intensified, radiating through every nerve in his body. His skin felt too tight, his bones too brittle, and then, without warning,

he grew.

It happened so suddenly that his head smacked into the ceiling with a sickening crack, plaster and dust raining down around him. The bathroom suddenly felt impossibly small, his limbs sprawled awkwardly as he filled the space. He tried to shift, to curl into himself, but the movement only made things worse. His knees jammed against the stalls, and his shoulders pressed painfully against either side of the walls.

"Damn it!" he hissed, his voice a deep, guttural growl that echoed in the confined space. His stomach roared again, a deafening sound that felt as though it might consume him from the inside out. His vision swam, and for a moment, he thought he might black out.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the growth reversed. And continued

His body shrank rapidly, the sensation like being yanked downward by an invisible force. His oversized limbs receded, his head no longer scraping the ceiling. Within seconds, he was smaller than normal—much smaller. The sink now loomed above him like a massive, towering structure, the tiles beneath him cold and unyielding.

He lay there, trembling, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. His body felt foreign, as if it didn't belong to him anymore. The pain lingered, a dull ache in his muscles and bones that left him feeling weak and vulnerable. He felt his stomach empty on the large tile he lay on, vomiting the contents of his stomach in violent waves. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he felt dizzy as he looked around him weakly

The cold, tiled floor of the communal bathroom felt even more unforgiving against Darrick's shrunken frame, his world growing around him. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. One moment, he could feel himself stretching, his limbs elongating as if they were being pulled by invisible strings; the next, he would shrink back down, smaller and more fragile than before. The constant fluctuation left him disoriented, his body trembling with exertion.

The pills were supposed to help. That's what they'd said. Twice a day, and it would "stabilize his system." Instead, they'd turned him into an uncontrolled freak—unpredictable and volatile. He wasn't even sure how small he was anymore, but he couldn't see even over the edge of the sink, and his body felt like it had been drained of every ounce of strength.

Darrick clutched his sides, the spasms subsiding for a moment, only to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He didn't appear to be growing, didn't think he could handle another spurt of growth

He barely noticed the sound of approaching footsteps, his mind too foggy to process what was happening until the bathroom door swung open.

A group of handlers entered, their expressions calm and professional, as if they'd seen this a hundred times before. There were three of them—two men and a woman—all dressed in the standard white uniforms that seemed to strip them of any individuality. The tallest of the three, a man with a clipboard tucked under his arm, scanned the room before his eyes landed on Darrick.

"There he is," the woman said, her tone devoid of surprise or concern. She motioned to one of her colleagues, who was already wheeling in a strange contraption—a small, metallic cage mounted on a trolley. It looked almost clinical, with reinforced bars and a sleek, sterile design that made Darrick's stomach churn.

"Let's make this quick," the man with the clipboard said, adjusting his glasses as he scribbled something down. "He's in a volatile state. We need him in the lab before another fluctuation."

The second man, a burly handler with a square jaw, crouched down beside Darrick. His gloved hands reached out, and Darrick flinched instinctively, his body curling in on itself as much as it could.

"Easy now," the man said, his voice calm but entirely detached. He scooped Darrick up with a gloved hand, practiced ease, as though handling someone who was shrunken and trembling was just another part of his job. Darrick tried to push against the man's hands, but his strength was nonexistent.

"Let me go," Darrick rasped, his voice barely audible. "What are you doing?"

"Standard procedure," the woman said as she adjusted the cage. "We're taking you for observation. You've been flagged for irregular growth fluctuations."

Darrick's mind raced, but his body was too weak to fight back as the burly handler carefully placed him inside the cage. The metallic floor was cold against his skin, and the bars loomed around him, making the space feel even smaller than it was. The door clicked shut with a finality that sent a wave of dread through him.

"You don't understand," he felt like he was about to cry, his voice shaking. "Something's wrong. The pills—they're doing something to me."

The handlers exchanged a glance but said nothing. They lifted the cage as if it weighed nothing, carrying him out of the bathroom and into the cold, sterile hallway beyond.

As they moved, Darrick's mind raced, his thoughts a chaotic jumble of panic and dread. He didn't know where they were taking him or what they planned to do.