The heat of his body forced him to writhe on the ground. His mind drifted between hallucinations of skeletal monsters, fleshy aberrations, loathsome creatures of the night, and seductive snakes. The young man felt as if the world was bathing him in a psychedelic drug. Each breath was labored, each roll of his throat brought steam into his stomach, each rasping cough lost him life essence. Chance vaguely saw his mortality.

In the recesses of the mind, the most primal instinct is to live. The scariest people are the ones who can draw power from the pains of living. In the young man's mind and body, a flame was lit. An indolent, mottled, fire swayed as he moaned. Pools of sweat collected beneath him. He tripped as he briefly woke, looking at shadows reflecting on walls, seeing demons and devils.

Chance, really, had a bad time. In the lapse of time between his hallucinations, he glanced upon the gate of the spirit. Unaware of his change, the intuition within Chance told him he would live so long as he bare his teeth and resisted the call of death.

Looking at the body of the young man as he sprawled on the floor placidly, one could observe tendrils of muscles dividing, combining, and melting beneath his skin. Human mutation was just as painful as animal mutation. People were, primarily, just unaware or ignorant of their new gained conditions.

As the heat flashes receded, bitter cold set in with the night. The cool winds leaking from the door to the convenience store brought howling whistles. Chance, whose mind was overdrafted due to his change, felt fear towards the unknown ingrained within his bones. He shivered uncontrollably, chuckling when he could, attempting to warm himself. His injured arm, where the bullet once penetrated and escaped, had already begun to reconnect. Small keloid scars like round world lay in the wake of the damage. There was discoloration, like a beet, around the afflicted areas. Signs of infection that could cause complications.

Chance awoke when the sun was glancing the sky. He blinked, having better clarity of his surroundings, before going into sensory overload. Smells struck his mind like the hammering calls of birds a distance away. Distinctly something was different.

Chance stood with the aid of the broken counter, the weakness he felt now was more pronounced than ever, and attempted to balance himself

He felt on his body, recovering a sense of self, as he swayed standing. His height, or line of sight, felt slightly different. He felt as if he was standing taller. His body was no longer as fleshy as it previously felt. His muscles were more compact. Where right muscles at his abdomen used to be felt, four large muscles were protected by his obliques. He felt distraught at the thought he was no longer human. Sparked by sudden insight, Chance thought to assure himself if he was even still a man. Luckily, a sea cucumber still lay attached to it's home.

Walking towards a large shard of tempered glass from a display case behind the counter, Chance noticed his skin was more thick. He realized his feet where bare from kicking his shoes off during his tussle the night before. Sensitivity to touch remained similar, but the pain from standing on sharp uneven ground was less.

Looking into the make shift mirror, Chance realized two things. The pain from his change was like an appendectomy, but the changes that were brought about served to enhance his features. He looked as if he came from tempered steel, slightly uneven in places, but strong. He felt as if he had been molded from clay once more and had new breath given to him.

Aware that his thoughts on mutation had been slightly confirmed, Chance sought to arm himself. He took the glass that he was looking into, duct tape found behind the counter, and a stick he found somewhere and began the process of making a spear.