The bitten man didn't stop fighting.
Even after the sedative took hold, even after his muscles began to fail him, his body kept trying—jerking in uneven, violent spasms that rattled the gurney and made the restraints groan in protest. Foam slid from the corners of his mouth in thick ropes, popping as it hit his chin. His teeth clacked together again and again, jaw working like it was chewing on something only he could see.
Ellis stood at the glass, unmoving.
"Name," he said.
A tech swallowed. "Daniel Price. Thirty-two. Army contractor. Bitten on the forearm during the west corridor breach."
Ellis nodded once, eyes never leaving Daniel.
The bite was ugly. Not dramatic—worse than that. Four distinct punctures where teeth had gone in, the flesh around them swollen and dark, veins spiderwebbing outward in angry black lines. The skin looked stretched, shiny, like it hurt to exist inside it.
Daniel bucked again, head slamming sideways. Blood smeared across the pillow beneath him. He didn't cry out. Didn't beg. Whatever pain signals his brain had once honored were already being overridden.
Ellis turned slightly. "And the scratched?"
"Marcus Hill," another tech said quickly. "Twenty-six. Guard detail. Scratches on the upper arm and neck. No bites. No blood exposure beyond surface contact."
Across the room, Marcus sat on a separate bed behind a clear partition. His wrists weren't restrained—just monitored. He was shaking hard enough that the mattress vibrated beneath him. His face was pale, eyes glassy with terror, but they tracked people normally. He flinched when someone moved too fast. He breathed too quickly. He was afraid.
Human afraid.
"Please," Marcus whispered, voice cracking. "Please tell me what's happening."
Ellis stepped toward him.
The contrast between the two men was unbearable once you saw it.
Daniel strained against straps like an animal caught in steel jaws, eyes unfocused but fixed on movement, mouth working constantly. Marcus hugged his arms to his chest like a child, watching everything, searching faces for answers.
Same exposure window.
Same environment.
Different contact.
Ellis spoke evenly. "Marcus, I need you to answer some questions. Can you do that?"
Marcus nodded too fast. "Yes. Yes. I'll do whatever you want."
Ellis glanced back at Daniel.
Daniel snarled—an ugly, broken sound that tore out of his throat as his head snapped toward Marcus's voice. His body surged again, restraints creaking.
Marcus saw it.
He recoiled, hands flying up. "Jesus—Jesus Christ—"
Ellis held up a hand. "Look at me. Not him."
Marcus forced his eyes back.
"Any dizziness?" Ellis asked.
"No. Just—just scared. My heart won't stop racing."
"Any nausea?"
Marcus shook his head. "No. No fever. I think. I—I feel hot but—"
"That's adrenaline," Ellis said. "Stay with me."
Behind him, Daniel let out a wet, gurgling sound and slammed his head back against the bed hard enough to crack skin. Blood ran into his hairline. He didn't slow.
A nurse muttered, "He should be out by now."
Ellis answered without looking away. "The sedative is being metabolized too fast."
Mike stepped up beside him, eyes flicking between the two patients. "Or it's being ignored."
Ellis nodded grimly.
"Draw blood from both," Ellis ordered. "Simultaneous. Full panels. Viral load, inflammatory markers, neural peptides, everything."
A tech hesitated. "Sir—Daniel is—"
"I know what he is," Ellis snapped. Then, quieter, "Do it."
They moved.
The needle slid into Marcus's arm first. He flinched but didn't pull away. Blood filled the vial—dark red, normal, alive.
Then they moved to Daniel.
The moment the needle pierced his skin, his entire body convulsed.
The gurney slammed sideways as he bucked, restraints biting deep. The tech nearly lost the syringe. Blood surged into the vial—but it looked wrong. Thicker. Almost syrupy. It moved sluggishly, clinging to the sides of the tube like it didn't want to let go.
Mike stared at it. "That's not clotting."
"No," Ellis said softly. "It's changing."
Daniel's veins bulged visibly beneath his skin, darkening as if something was crawling through them. His mouth opened wide and he snapped his teeth together with a crack that made several people jump.
Marcus began to cry.
"I don't want to be like that," he sobbed. "I didn't even feel the scratches. They weren't deep. I swear—"
Ellis turned to him. "Marcus, listen to me carefully."
Marcus nodded, tears streaming.
"You were scratched," Ellis said. "Surface trauma. No puncture. No deep tissue exposure."
Marcus clung to the words like a lifeline.
Daniel roared.
Not a scream.
A roar.
It tore out of his chest and echoed off the lab walls, raw and furious, vibrating through glass and bone. Spit sprayed from his mouth, flecking the restraints. His eyes rolled back briefly—then snapped forward again, locked on the nearest living body.
A tech stumbled backward, tripped over a stool.
Ellis didn't move.
"Temperature?" Ellis demanded.
"Climbing," someone said. "One-oh-four. One-oh-five."
"And Marcus?"
"Normal. Elevated heart rate only."
Ellis exhaled slowly.
There it was.
The line.
"The pathogen requires direct blood-to-blood transmission," Ellis said. "Bite forces it past the barrier. Scratches don't—at least not immediately."
Mike's jaw tightened. "So scratches aren't safe. Just… slower."
"Maybe," Ellis said. "Or maybe they don't convert at all."
Daniel slammed his head sideways again, splitting the skin further. He didn't react to the pain. He only strained harder, saliva foaming, breath hitching in ragged pulls.
Marcus retched into a bin, sobbing.
Ellis turned back to Daniel, eyes cold with focus.
"Neural activity?" he asked.
"Off the charts," a tech replied. "Motor cortex is lit up. Pain centers are… suppressed. Almost gone."
"And cognitive?" Ellis asked.
"Fragmented. Recognition without reasoning."
Ellis nodded grimly.
"Marcus," Ellis said, turning again. "I need you to stay here. We're going to monitor you closely."
Marcus grabbed the edge of the bed. "Am I going to turn?"
Ellis didn't lie.
"I don't know yet," he said. "But right now, you're still you."
That mattered.
Daniel screamed again—hoarse now, vocal cords shredding under the strain. His body surged, and this time a restraint gave way with a sharp crack.
Hands rushed in.
"Hold him!" someone shouted.
They piled onto the gurney, pressing weight down, tightening straps, fighting a man who no longer fought like one.
Ellis watched, heart pounding.
Two men.
One bitten.
One scratched.
Same chaos.
Same outbreak.
Different fate.
Ellis felt the truth settle heavy in his chest, colder than fear.
This wasn't random.
It was specific.
And somewhere out there, in a parking lot full of dead things and broken noise, his son had disappeared into the worst variable of all.
Ellis turned back to the glass, fists clenched.
"Document everything," he said. "This difference decides who lives."
Behind him, Daniel thrashed and howled.
Across the room, Marcus cried quietly into his hands.