Chapter 1: The Injection
The key turned in the lock with a scrape that was usually comforting. Tonight, it sounded like a scream being stifled.
Lewis looked up from the flickering TV, a late-night talk show host’s muted chuckle filling the room. The door swung open and Mary stood there, silhouetted by the dim hall light. She wasn’t moving. Her shoulders hitched once, twice, and then a raw, broken sob tore from her throat.
“Mary?” He was off the frayed couch in an instant, his bare feet avoiding the half-unpacked moving boxes.
She stumbled inside, letting the door slam shut behind her. Her whole body was trembling. She clutched her left arm just above the elbow, fingers digging into the fabric of her work blouse. Her face was sheet-white, her kind black eyes wide with a terror he’d never seen in her before.
“He just… he just jabbed me,” she gasped, the words wet and ragged. “On the subway. Coming up the stairs. A man. He had a needle.”
Lewis’s paramedic brain flicked on, a cold, clinical switch amidst the panic. “Okay. Okay, let me see.” His voice was softer than he felt. He guided her to the couch, the springs groaning under her slight weight. The blue TV light played over her face, making her look ghostly. “Did you see the needle? Was it a syringe?”
“I don’t know, it was fast, it was just a… a prick.” She was hyperventilating, little puffs of air. “It stung. It burned. Lew, I’m so scared. What did he inject me with?”
“Alright, deep breaths with me. In for four.” He demonstrated, holding her gaze, trying to anchor her. His fingers were gentle as he pried her hand from her arm. He pushed the sleeve of her blouse up. There it was, on the pale skin of her deltoid: a tiny, angry red puncture, beading a single drop of blood.
The air in the room changed.
It wasn’t just the stale coffee smell from their mugs on the floor, or the dusty scent of the peeling wallpaper. A sharp, metallic odor bloomed, coppery and strange, like the air before a lightning strike.
Mary’s next inhale was a sharp, wet rasp. Her eyes, fixed on his, flickered.
A faint, sickly green light pulsed within the dark iris, like a dying ember flaring.
It was gone in a second.
“Did you see that?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“See what?” he lied, his own heart beginning a hard, slow drum against his ribs.
“My vision… it just went green for a second.” She clutched at her chest. “My heart. It’s beating so fast. It feels… it feels like it’s going to come out of my chest.”
Her breathing was no longer just panicked. It was becoming mechanical, a desperate piston driving air in and out of lungs that suddenly sounded too small. Huh-huh-huh-huh. The rhythm filled the quiet room, drowning out the TV.
“Mary, look at me. Focus on my voice.” He took her face in his hands. Her skin was hot. Unnaturally hot. Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. Under his palms, he felt a subtle, terrifying movement—a tightening, a thickening along the line of her jaw.
“Something’s wrong, Lewis.” Her words slurred. “My bones… they ache.”
A deep, muffled pop came from her shoulder, the sound of a joint releasing under immense pressure. She cried out, a short, sharp sound of pain and shock.
He watched, helpless, as the slender shape of her shoulder began to distort. The fabric of her blouse strained at the seam. A thread snapped with a ping.
“Call an ambulance,” he said, but he didn’t move. He was frozen, watching the science-fiction horror unfolding on his own couch.
“Can’t…” she grunted. Her back arched. Another series of pops, this time from her spine. Her breaths were deafening now, great heaving gulps that shook her entire frame. The kind black eyes he knew so well swam with fear, and then that alien green light surged back, brighter this time, painting his face in its eerie glow.
Her body began to swell.
It wasn’t gradual. It was a violent uprising of tissue and bone. Muscle mass erupted from her petite form, splitting the sleeves of her blouse like tissue paper. Ropes of sinew and power corded down her arms, her thighs, her calves. The pleasant, athletic build of a woman who enjoyed weekend hikes was being erased, overwritten by something primal and immense.
Her skin darkened, taking on a deep, lustrous emerald hue, as if her very blood had changed color. It stretched taut over the new, monstrous topography of her body.
“Mary, fight it!” Lewis shouted, finding his voice at last. He grabbed her hand. It was already twice its normal size, his own fingers barely closing around her green, thickened knuckles. “Stay with me! You’re in there, I know you are!”
She let out a roar that was part agony, part sheer, world-breaking fury. It wasn’t a human sound. It rattled the loose panes in the windows and shook dust from the ceiling. She threw her head back, and he saw her teeth were the same, but in that massive, jade-colored face, they looked like fangs.
The transformation rippled through her. Her clothes were just rags now, littering the couch and the floor. She was a giantess, a monument of emerald muscle, easily seven feet tall and still growing, crouched on the ruined couch that groaned and splintered beneath her weight.
The thing that had been Mary looked at him.
Deep in those glowing green eyes, behind the rage and the primal confusion, he saw a flicker. A shard of recognition. A plea.
It was her. Trapped.
“Mary,” he breathed, taking a hesitant step forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s me. It’s Lewis.”
The behemoth flinched. A low, guttural sound rumbled in its chest. It looked down at its own massive, green hands, turning them over as if seeing them for the first time. A drop of clear fluid—tear? Something else?—traced a path down its cheek.
Then the smell of fear—her fear, animal and sharp—hit it. Its head snapped up, nostrils flaring. The glowing eyes fixed not on him, but on the flashing blue light of the TV, which now showed a chaotic police chase. The strobing effect seemed to agitate it.
With a movement faster than anything that large should be capable of, it swiped a hand at the television. The screen imploded with a spectacular crunch of glass and plastic, plunging the room into near-darkness, save for the streetlight filtering through the blinds.
Silence, save for its ragged, steam-engine breathing.
Lewis stood very still. His paramedic training whispered protocols for violent patients, for shock, for trauma. None of it applied here. This was mythology crashing into his living room.
The creature swayed. It tried to stand, ducking its head from the low ceiling. A massive green foot came down on a cardboard box of Lewis’s old books, flattening it completely.
It took a step toward the balcony door, drawn by the larger space beyond the glass. Its shoulder brushed the wall. The ancient, faded wallpaper tore. The plaster underneath cracked with a sound like falling ice.
It was leaving. It was going to stumble out onto his second-floor balcony, and then into the world.
“No,” Lewis said, the word a command to himself. He darted forward, not to stop it—that was impossible—but to get in front of it, to put himself in its line of sight. “Mary. Don’t go. Stay here. We can fix this.”
The behemoth paused. It looked down at him, a tiny, fragile man in a t-shirt and pajama pants. The green eyes seemed to soften, just for a millisecond.
Then a siren wailed in the distance, several blocks away. The creature startled, a full-body flinch. The momentary connection shattered. A low growl built in its throat. It turned its bulk toward the balcony door, a clear exit.
It reached for the handle, its fingers clumsy. Instead of turning it, it clenched. The metal knob crumpled like foil.
Frustrated, it roared again and simply pushed.
The entire door frame—wood, glass, lock, and hinges—exploded outward in a shower of splinters and shattered glass, falling into the night. Cool air rushed into the stifling room.
The creature stepped out onto the small balcony. The structure, designed for a couple of people to stand and smoke, gave a terrifying groan of protest. The wrought-iron railing looked like a child’s toy against its form.
Lewis rushed to the jagged opening, ignoring the glass crunching under his feet. “Mary, please!”
The behemoth turned its head, the streetlight outlining its impossible shoulders. It looked at him one last time. The green glow was unreadable.
Then it placed its hands on the railing, either to vault over or to pull itself up.
With a final, metallic shriek of failure, the bolts anchoring the balcony to the building tore free. Lewis had a dizzying view of the whole structure—and the massive green creature atop it—tip forward into empty space.
A sound of crumbling brick, a shower of concrete dust, and a thunderous impact shook the building.
Then, silence.
Lewis stared into the cloud of dust billowing up from the alley below, his ears ringing, the taste of plaster and fear sharp on his tongue.