David stared at the screen, frozen.
The image of Aaron casually popping the pill into his mouth looped over and over in his mind, synced now with Catherine's panicked voice on the phone. His blood turned to ice, his hands trembled violently on the desk.
He knew what those pills were supposed to do. But they were never meant for human consumption. Never.
The possibility that Aaron had ingested it was terrifying enough. But now—now it was real.
Aaron had swallowed it.
And now he was sick.
He didn't even say goodbye to his colleagues as he grabbed his coat and bolted from the lab, ignoring every call that came through on his way out. His thoughts were too loud, too urgent, a storm of panic swirling in his head.
Please be okay. Please hang on.
The drive home was a blur of city lights and red lights run. The engine roared as he sped through the empty afternoon streets. He couldn't stop shaking.
Catherine sat by Aaron's bedside, her hand gently pressed to his forehead. His skin was burning up, damp with sweat, his body trembling under the sheets.
"Aaron, sweetheart..." she whispered, brushing his hair back as he let out another soft groan.
She didn't know what was happening to him. He looked like he was in agony. His breathing was shallow and ragged, his body occasionally spasming like he'd been shocked.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
David burst through the front door a moment later. She called out to him, and he didn't wait—he took the stairs two at a time, heart hammering in his chest.
When he opened Aaron's door, he froze.
Catherine was at his side, eyes full of helplessness. Aaron was writhing on the bed, a sheen of sweat covering his pale skin, eyes fluttering open and shut, teeth clenched as low groans escaped his throat. Every now and then he'd gasp—sharp, panicked breaths—like his lungs were struggling to keep up.
"He's got a high fever," Catherine said, barely able to keep her voice steady. "He threw up at school and nearly collapsed. Something's wrong, David."
David moved toward the bed, slowly, guilt weighing his steps.
"There's something I need to tell you," he began.
She turned to him.
"When we were at the lab yesterday... Aaron accidentally took one of the test pills."
Her face went white.
"What?" she breathed, eyes widening.
"I saw it on the security footage. He thought it was candy," David said, voice cracking. "It wasn't his fault. I should've seen it. I should've—"
Catherine looked down at Aaron, her trembling hand brushing his flushed cheek. "What will it do to him...?"
David couldn't speak for a long moment. He lowered his head.
"We don't know," he said finally. "It was never tested on humans. It was an experimental compound meant for trait integration... but the DNA complex is unstable. We don't have a reversal. Not yet."
Tears slipped down Catherine's cheeks. She loved Aaron more than anything. Seeing him like this—so helpless, in pain—was shattering.
"Then we have to do something, David. Please."
"I'm taking him to the lab," he said. "It's the only place where we might have a chance to monitor what's happening and—maybe—help him."
Carefully, he bent over and lifted Aaron in his arms. His son was limp, hot to the touch, his shallow breaths fanning against David's shoulder. He felt the rise and fall of his chest, far too fast. Too weak.
David carried him out to the car while Catherine followed, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
He opened the back door and gently laid Aaron across the seat. The boy stirred, teeth gritted as another wave of pain wracked his body.
Their eyes met for a moment—father and mother—nothing needed to be said.
Just fear. And love.
David nodded grimly, then shut the door. Catherine stood silently on the porch, her heart in her throat as she watched the car back out of the driveway.
She didn't move until the vehicle disappeared around the corner.
In the back seat, Aaron was barely conscious.
Every inch of him felt like it was boiling. His muscles spasmed on their own, sharp twinges shooting through his limbs. His chest burned. He could feel something happening beneath his skin. Like it wasn't his anymore.
He twisted slightly, whimpering through clenched teeth. He couldn't even scream. The pain was too thick, too deep. His vision blurred as hot tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.
Then—he saw it.
On his forearm, pale strands of fur began to push through the skin, slow and fine at first, but growing denser. His heart pounded harder. No matter how hard he tried to rub or scratch it away, it stayed—spreading.
No... no, no, no.
He looked down at his trembling hands and saw the tips of his fingernails darkening, sharpening just slightly.
He sobbed softly. Whether from fear, pain, or something else entirely—he couldn't tell anymore.
In the front seat, David glanced into the rearview mirror and caught sight of his son, curled up in misery.
His foot pressed harder on the gas.
They needed to get to the lab.
And they needed to get there now.