Consciousness came back to Chris slowly, but surprisingly painlessly. It began with a soft hiss at the edge of his hearing, working its way into a full roar all around him. He could feel something cool and smooth beneath his cheek and against his arm where it was trapped beneath his body. He opened his eyes a crack and pushed himself into a sitting position, his back against one side of the tub and his legs draped over the other, leaning over to turn off the faucet. The water didn't even feel cold anymore as it rained over his skin, though he could feel the trace of every rivulet across his body. He leaned back, breathing deeply.

The room smelled differently now, the aromatic bite of ammonium-based cleaning products stinging his nose; apparently it wasn't such a dive after all. The tiny bathroom seemed brighter too, illuminating every fine detail of the cracked linoleum in blue-tinged, fluorescent clarity.

He could hear the silence in the air, feel the air pressure against his eardrums. It felt like he'd just stepped off an eight hour flight. But he could hear smaller sounds too, like the trickle of water somewhere deeper in the pipes, a television set in some other suite, or the whisper of air through his nose. Slowly, he eased himself into a standing position, stripping out of his sopping clothes and hanging them over the curtain-rail. Although the fabric was completely drenched with freezing water, and his skin felt clammy with moisture, he didn't feel chilled at all. In fact, from what he could see and feel of his body he felt fine; everything seemed to be in working order. Perhaps the virus had simply worked itself out of his body, victim to a healthy immune system?

But it was still with a nervous breath that he stepped towards the mirror, unsure of what disfiguring mutations might have manifested themselves. Gripping the edges of the counter in his hands, he lifted his head to face the mirror, letting out a deep sigh of relief at what he saw. The same sharp features and deep blue eyes he was familiar with stared back out at him, the same dark hair wet and matted to his head, the same bristling stubble covering his jaw. He leaned closer, his eyes darting from left to right over their reflections, reassuring him that there really weren't yellowed cat-eyes glaring at him from his own reflection.

Chris stepped back, looking over his body. Everything was the same. Had the injection done anything at all, or had Mary Vlosky just sent him for a loop? Or maybe she'd simply engineered a better virus with the use of more complete research and advanced technology. He headed back to the bedroom, intending to find out.

On the dresser lay the leather gun and knife holster he never left home without. He pulled the knife out of its sheath, the sharpened metal glinting even in the dim light of the room. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Chris rang a finger along the edge, reassuring himself that the blade – the same one he had carried with him since that night at the Spencer Mansion – was still free of any chips or cracks. Then, holding out his left hand, he ran the knife over his forearm, easily splitting the skin.

Blood swelled out of the wound, threatening to roll off his arm onto the carpet, but before the first drop could fall, something strange happened. The cut, although small and fairly shallow, had already started to close itself up, the skin drawing itself back together. Chris wiped at the rest of the blood with his fingertips, and as he examined the dark smear he felt a rush surge through his body.

Power.

He finally understood what it was like to look back at the rest of humanity and think I am something greater. His features twisted themselves into a smile as he stood up and began rummaging through his bag, pulling out the change of clothes he'd packed. He pulled the garments on quickly, returning the knife to its sheath and slipping into the holster with ease. Opting to leave his soaking clothes behind, he grabbed his jacket and left, slamming the door on his way out. He turned back at the sound of wood cracking as it impacted the frame with a crash.

This might take a little getting used to after all, he thought to himself, taking the stairs down two at a time. There wasn't anymore time to waste.