A/N: I'd just like to give a warning that this chapter gets a bit graphic and intense. You can probably judge by the title of the chapter what's going to happen, so I'd just like to make sure you know to read at your own risk- this is Cranks in all their glory.

This is Alby's memory.

Something wasn't adding up.

Why were we being removed from the Glade? I was a leader, I had more important things to do than mapping killzones or whatever. Hopefully this would all be over soon.

But as the memory began, something told me it wasn't going to be that simple.

A lot of people call them Cranks. I just call them Mom and Dad.

Some people think they're crazy, but I know they aren't. They just get a little mad sometimes. And sometimes they look at me funny, like they don't know who I am, but it never lasts that long. It's been happening a lot lately, but that's okay.

And we move around a lot, moving in and out of abandoned houses because if we stay in one house too long, the police come. The police think they need to take Mom and Dad away. But they don't. We get along just fine.

Every morning I wake up and try to find something to make for breakfast. This particular morning we don't have anything, but that's okay. If we're all out of food, Mom or Dad goes and takes some from the store. We don't have any money, but Mom and Dad say it's okay if they take it without money.

After breakfast, I said goodbye to my parents, but they never really say it back anymore. But that's alright, because they're always huddled together and murmuring, so they must be doing something important.

After I say goodbye, I leave and go to school. When I'm at school, my teacher always acts really nervous around me. A lot of days, like today, he asks me questions about my parents. I've learned that when he asks these questions, I need to lie:

"Mom and Dad are fine." "Yes, they both have jobs." "I don't know any Cranks, and neither do they." "No, they don't seem sick."

School is always kind of hard because I don't really have any friends. People avoid me because they hear rumors about my family. And maybe those rumors are true, but I still get kind of sad sometimes because I'm always alone.

I had a particularly rough day at school, so I couldn't wait to go back home. Mom had seemed to be having a bad day that morning, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go see her and Dad. That always calmed me down- to know that I still had them.

But the scene I found when I got home did nothing to calm me down.

When I walked into the abandoned house, I saw my dad lying on the floor, his eyes blank and his neck covered in purple bruises.

My mom sat behind him, her hair wild, revealing bloody patches on her scalp. Her clothes were torn in places and covered in blood. Her eyes were the worst part- they were filled with an animalistic craziness.

I froze, unable to process the scene before me.

"Leo," Mom said, her voice filled with a calmness that completely contradicted the state she was in. "Leo, come here, darling." She stared at me, the Flare apparent in her wild eyes. "You look so skinny…come, have a snack," she said, holding up a bunch of something I didn't recognize…something roughly cylindrical and covered in blood.

I realized what it was the same time my younger self did- they were fingers.

My mother was eating fingers. Probably ones that had previously been attached to my father's hand.

I screamed as I realized exactly what was going on. I started to back away, but my mom smiled wildly and jumped up.

"Don't be afraid. They're just like…like little carrots. Little carrots." She held them out and walked towards me. "And these are from the right hand. And the right hand is always yummier."

She threw her head back and croaked out a laugh. I took a few more steps back towards the door when my mom's laugh cut off and she looked straight at me. "You have a right hand, too. A yummy right hand," she said, the insanity dripping from her voice.

I instantly understood the implication in her statement and decided the time for slow and careful was over.

I turned and bolted out the door, frantically searching for anyone who could help me- anyone who didn't have the Flare. My mom's voice rang through my head as tears threatened to surface.

I made my way to the main part of town, never looking back to see if my mother had followed me.

After running for what felt like a lifetime, I finally arrived at our old, run-down police station. I broke through the doors and didn't pause as I made my way up to the lady at the desk.

She looked at me with a bored expression. "May I help you?"

I was breathing heavily as I struggled to begin the story. Eventually, I lost control of my emotions and started openly sobbing. The only words I could say were, "Mommy's a Crank! Mommy's a Crank!" Over and over I repeated the phrase, the reality of the situation punching at my heart with every repetition.

The lady seemed worried and hastily put on a mask that covered her nose and mouth. She then ran to a back room and returned with another woman dressed in a police uniform and an identical face mask. My younger self didn't notice any of this activity, I was still crying.

The lady seemed to debate whether to approach me, but must have decided against it. But she did ask a question in a loud but soothing voice.

"Sweetie, did your mother just start showing signs of the Flare?"

I calmed down to the occasional sniffle and tried to answer as calmly as possible. "No, she and Dad have had it for a long time."

The officer raiser her eyebrows and her eyes grew wide. "How long?" she asked anxiously.

"I…I don't know," I answered.

"Think hard. A week? A month?"

"More than a month. A lot of months," I said.

The women exchanged looks. "And do you live with them?" the policewoman asked.

I nodded in response.

"And do you feel sick, sweetie?" she asked carefully.

I shook my head. "No, I never feel sick. Just sad."

The policewoman nodded once, then slowly removed her mask and dialed an old phone on the desk. She waited for a moment then spoke into the receiver.

"Yes, this is Officer Polly Matthews at the Red Rock Police Station. I think we have a Munie here…Yes, he says his parents have been infected for some time now, yet he shows no signs…7 or 8 years old…Yes…Yes, we will…Thank you."

She hung the phone up then turned back to me.

"Okay, sweetie. Have you ever heard of something called 'immunity?'" she asked.

I shook my head.

"It means that you can't catch the Flare. And we think you are immune. But we'll test you to make sure. Then some nice people from an organization called WICKED are going to come and take you somewhere safe."

"But what about Mom?" I asked, my voice catching. "What's going to happen to her?"

The officer smiled sadly. "You don't need to worry about her anymore. Or your dad. You're going to be safe now. Nothing will ever hurt you again."

I smiled a little. Nothing will ever hurt me again.

The last part of the memory passed in a blur and I barely noticed when it ended.

I was still hung up on the scene that had faced me in the abandoned house. My mother- my mother - had been eating my father's finger. She had eaten a person without a second thought.

Whatever disease or virus she had, whatever this "Flare" was, it wasn't good. Not one bit good. What kind of virus drives people to eat other humans?

I realized I was shaking. I felt tears burn in the back of my eyes and start to run down my cheeks. I felt the most anger, sadness, confusion, and disgust a person could possibly feel.

Because I was the son of a cannibal.