[D A R R I C K]

Darrick's mind drifted back to Tess, the image of her soft smile piercing through the chaos that had become his reality. He remembered the way her laughter would light up a room, the warmth of her touch calming him in ways words never could. For a brief moment, the sterile, oppressive enclosure melted away, replaced by the memory of her embrace pressed into his body.

His stomach growled, a low, primal rumble that echoed through the glass walls. The sound startled him, pulling him harshly back into the present. The hunger was fierce, an ache that gnawed at his insides, relentless and consuming. But this hunger was different—darker, more insidious. It wasn't just for food; it was a craving for something deeper, something that twisted his gut with revulsion.

Darrick's breath hitched, his hands trembling as he pressed them against his abdomen. The thought of Tess—of her delicate frame, the pulse he could feel beneath her skin when they were close—made his mouth dry and his heart race. A wave of nausea surged through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, horrified at the monstrous impulses clawing their way to the surface.

"No... no, no, no," he whispered, the words a desperate mantra as he shook his head violently. This wasn't him. This couldn't be him. Some handlers beyond his confinement looked up at him, Darrick tried to turn away, embarrassed beneath the gazes of those monitoring him. But he had no where to hide, he was in the centre of the room, glass walls on either side of him. He felt completely on display.

His body betrayed him, though, the enhanced metabolism David had mentioned roaring for sustenance, for something only Tess could provide. The realization was a knife to his heart, cold and merciless. Darrick doubled over, clutching his head, the glass beneath him groaning as his massive frame shifted.

He could never let Tess see him like this. Never let her know the beast he was becoming. The walls of the enclosure felt tighter, the air thinner as the magnitude of his transformation settled over him like a shroud.

Tess had been his anchor, the one person who made him feel somewhat normal. The thought that he could ever see her as prey, that his twisted biology might hunger for her in ways he couldn't control, was unbearable.

A growl escaped his throat, not entirely natural, the sound vibrating through the glass. His reflection in the thick walls sneered back at him, distorted and grotesque. He slammed a fist into the floor, the impact sending a shudder through the room but leaving the surface unmarred. The containment held firm, just as David had promised.

"Tess," he murmured, his voice breaking, the hunger threatening to swallow his sanity. "I can't... I won't..."

But the beast inside him didn't care about promises or love or humanity. It only cared about survival, about feeding, about growing stronger.

Darrick fell back against the glass, his massive form sliding down as he buried his face in his hands. The glass was cold against his back, a brutal reminder of his captivity—not just in this cell but in his own monstrous body.

If he couldn't control this, if he couldn't find a way to escape this nightmare, then he had to protect her—from him. No matter the cost.

~~

He laid his head against the glass, he hasn't an idea of what time of day it was. Hasn't a clue how long it had been. His legs cramped up in the small space, wanting to stretch out but had limited room. Darrick's mind was a battlefield of memories and sensations.

Sometimes David would appear, standing before Darrick on the platform outside the confined walls, seeming to admire the gargantuan boy before him. And then every now and then, electrodes released from compartments of his confined cage, prickling at his skin, pressure gauges monitoring every tremor of his restrained form—his thoughts always drifted to Tess. In the sterile haze of his confinement, Tess's laughter and gentle touch were vivid distractions, ephemeral escapes from the clinical cruelty of his surroundings. Every pulse of pain, every calculated jab from the tests, was momentarily softened by the memory of her warm body resting in his hands, the look in her eyes that spoke of belonging and solace. He tried to ignore the groan of his stomach. But these thoughts were as fleeting as they were precious, and Darrick clung to them desperately to ward off the crushing despair of his current reality.

The monotonous beeping of monitors and the cold, measured voice of David were suddenly interrupted by a sound that resonated deeper than the tests—a soft, deliberate shuffle from beyond the containment glass.

Looking down to the corner of his cage, a small door to his confinement hissed open, and in that moment the rigid order of his world wavered as a handler stepped through. A man, small in stature moved with a measured purpose. He was apparently coming in to feed Darrick— In his hands, the handler dragged a trolley piled high with food, the nutrient-rich sustenance designed to keep Darrick alive within these inhuman confines.

Darrick tried pushing himself as far away from the man as possible, not wanting to be near anyone as he was a risk to other lives! The man was so small, but Darrick was acting as if a poisonous snake threatened to bite him. The handler appeared almost ghostlike in the harsh fluorescent light—a small figure shrouded in an impenetrable barrier of protective gear. His outfit seemed to be a caution in case Darrick were to try swallowing a handler again. Every inch of him was covered in a pristine, sterile white hazmat suit, the fabric rigid and unyielding, as if engineered to erase any trace of humanity. A full-face mask obscured the contours of his features, and a clear plastic shield encased his eyes and mouth, distorting his expressions into an impassive, mechanical calm. Yet, despite the layers of protective material, one thing shone through: his eyes.

All Darrick could see were those eyes—small, thoughtful, and oddly compassionate. In that confined space, they were the only window to the man behind the suit. They were a dark brown, even Darrick could see that from his gargantuan size. Similar to his own. There was a quiet vulnerability there, an unspoken sadness mixed with a trace of admiration as the handler carefully wheeled the trolley of food behind him, positioning it on the metal platform.

The other details—the slight shuffle of his steps, the measured precision in his movements—were lost in the anonymity of the hazmat gear. To Darrick, who was trapped in a state of perpetual defiance and loss, those eyes were the sole reminder that someone out there, even if forced into a mask and shield, still possessed the capacity for kindness.

Darrick let out a soft groan, hoping the man would leave soon as his stomach flared at the sight of him.

For a long, suspended moment, the handler lingered at the threshold of the containment box. Darrick's eyes, flicked to him again, heavy with both hunger and reluctant curiosity, tracked the man as he paused to regard him. There was something in the way the handler's gaze lingered—a mixture of quiet marvel and almost paternal tenderness—as if he were in awe of Darrick's sheer size and presence.

A flicker of recognition stirred within Darrick's memory; he thought he might have seen this man before somewhere in the sprawling facility. Yet, he quickly dismissed the thought as a mere echo of familiarity—one of the many transient faces that had come and gone in this labyrinth of experiments.

The handler's gaze held a silent story—Though Darrick could not place exactly where he'd seen those eyes before, he suspected that they belonged to someone who, like him, had witnessed too much and carried too many burdens. The handler's presence, cloaked in layers of sterile protection, was a reminder that even in relentless control and experimentation, the smallest spark of human connection could still be glimpsed through a pair of earnest eyes.

The handler's kind, gruff voice broke the silence with a soft "Hello, Darrick," a sound that was both gentle and laden with an unspoken understanding, Darrick forced himself to focus on the present. But as his eyes inadvertently drifted to the trolley, his hunger—raw and gnawing—overpowered him.

In that instant, a darker memory, one he had long tried to suppress, surged unbidden. He recalled the disquieting moment in the lab when, amid his uncontrolled growth, he had involuntarily taken a handler into his mouth. The memory was vivid: the wet, desperate sensations, the overwhelming mix of hunger and horror that had gripped him.

"Go away" With a bitter shake of his head, Darrick wiped his mouth with a rough, calloused hand, banishing the memory to the recesses of his mind. He would not let himself become weak again—he would not allow even the slightest concession to that shameful vulnerability.

Yet, the hunger was insistent, echoing through his body with primal urgency. The handler's trolley represented not only sustenance but a temporary reprieve from the unrelenting tests and isolation. Darrick's stomach growled, deep and unyielding, as he hesitated only for a split second before lunging for the trolley. In one fluid, desperate motion, he grabbed it and began to devour its contents, his massive hands trembling with both hunger and a fierce determination not to fall prey to his own weaknesses.

The food was warm, but it didn't taste like anything. Just fuel, designed to keep him alive. Sustenance. Nothing more.

Darrick chewed mechanically, his jaw working, his tongue barely registering the texture of whatever they had given him. His body, however, reacted instantly. The nutrient-dense meal settled like a rock in his stomach, easing the gnawing, hollow ache that had plagued him .

But the other hunger—the deeper one, the one that curled around his ribs like a serpent—didn't leave.

His breathing was too heavy. His skin itched, like something inside of him was stretching, demanding more than just food.

More than just sustenance.

The handler, having completed his brief task, retreated quickly into the corridor beyond the glass, his eyes met Darrick's for a lingering moment. A silent marvel at the giant among giants sat caged before him. Darrick eyes flicked toward the handler, still lingering outside the reinforced glass. Darrick glared at the handler through the glass and the man finally turned away from him. Though Darrick could be certain, Now was not the time for reminiscence or connection—now was the time to survive.

As Darrick chewed, the handler's kind greeting, delivered in that deep, gruff tone, echoed in his mind. It was a small mercy, a fleeting kindness amidst the endless tests and clinical dehumanization. And in that tense, charged silence, Darrick's thoughts returned once more to Tess—her memory the one refuge that, however painful, kept him tethered to a sense of humanity in the face of relentless degradation.