It was a wave. It bore down on the man flying through those bleeding pines. A wall of darkness and water and evil, unrelenting in its pursuit.

His feet pounded against the damp earth, pushing himself faster and faster through the trees. Their branches grabbed at him, roaring in his face and threatened to snag him. His lungs were on fire. He couldn't breathe. His legs were aching. Rest! They pleaded. Stop! They begged. But he ignored his body's cries.

The man strained his dying body to go faster after he had let himself look behind. Screams that tore his throat escaped him. It was gaining on him. He couldn't out run it.

A Tree. Sanctuary.

One last time he surged forward. His legs bled. Lungs ravaged. Just make it to the tree. To the tree. But the forest would not let him.

Thorns and nettles wrapped their barbed vines around his ankles, digging into his pale flesh, tearing it to ribbons. Like Jericho he fell. The forest laughed and mocked his pleas. The red rain gushed. The wave, the beast, crashed down.

It swept him up into it's pulsating embrace, crushing his chest and draining his breath. It peeled his skin from his muscles like a coat. It forced itself down his throat and loaded his stomach and lungs with its matter. The bloated creature sang as it took away his freedom. Its mass crawled through his veins and as he gagged, trying to dispel his body's invader, it only filled him more. And more. And more.

It took.

And it took.

And it took until whatever identity he formerly had, any thoughts and goals and love he felt, were corrupted. And it laughed.

And laughed as he cried.

And laughed as he became it,

and it became him.

Slam! Scout flopped back down onto the scratchy bed, rubbing his now throbbing forehead. Ow! Who puts a ceiling that low!? The young man, grumbling, attempted to recall what had woken him up so violently.

A dream. It had been a dream, right? But dreams don't make you feel pain, right? Because right now everything was sore. His arms and face felt tight and itchy, and his ankle was killing him, absolutely killing the poor Scout. The only thing that didn't hurt was his left hand. Usually he'd be concerned but now it just one less thing on his pretty long lists of things he'd have to worry about. For starters, where the heck was he? The runner looked around with confusion. All he knew was that he definitely was not here when he fell asleep.

Wherever he was, or whatever he was in, was small. Too small. It was a single room with a tiny kitchen area, a tiny table that held up a tiny gun with tiny cushioned benches, and tiny furniture pieces like a tiny dresser and tiny cabinets. The walls were a dull greenish-gray and were mostly covered by those dressers and cabinets and little photos of orange places. And the smell. The general scent of coffee beans, gunpowder, and shoe polish.

Squinting always seemed to help Scout think, so that's what he did. Narrowing his eyes at the ceiling, he concentrated. He knew he had been here before, he just couldn't remember what it was. It was on the tip of his tongue! And maybe he would have remembered if Scout kept his attention on the question he had asked himself. But he was Scout. And to be fair, he spent a whole 14 seconds thinking before giving up.

The door's handle jiggled, and Scout's blood ran cold. His immediate surroundings seemed to blend and morph into a dark pine forest. No. No, no, nonononononono. He lunged off the bed and shot for the pistol. Scout reached, and froze. He grabbed it with his right hand and swung it up just as the camper door opened.

"Crikey! Scout, whot are ya doing, mate?" Sniper exclaimed. The resemblance was uncanny. It had the same long, boney hands. The same face with the resting frown. The same outdoorsy clothes. Everything was the same, even down to that faint scar carved in his nose and cheek. It stood there feigning shock and concern. Standing there, after everything it did. Scout scowled and fired.

It barreled into him, slamming him against the wall. Scout writhed and twisted to get free of its grip. His wrist was pinned and the thing was trying to wrestle the weapon out of Scout's hand. With strength even Scout didn't know he possessed, he kicked the creature away and sent him crashing into the small counters. He pried himself off the wall and scrambled for the door, heart threatening to break through his rib cage.

The Not-Sniper didn't let him get far, though. As he reached the handle, the thing yanked him backwards and threw him to the ground. The gun tumbled out of his hand as Scout connected to the old carpet with a thud. His nose was wet and burning and something heavy pinned him to the dusty floor. The young man threw himself around, the weight on his back dug deeper and deeper. It leaned on his lungs. He could hardly breathe!

"Let me go," He croaked, "let me go!"

"Not until you've calmed down and explained whoi ya had a pistol pointed right at moi bloody face!" The thing roared. Its hands tightened painfully around his wrist and arm. It tightened so much that Scout could feel the pulse rushing through its skin. Scout paused his struggling. A pulse?

Scout twisted his head at an uncomfortable angle in order to look at who was holding him down. It did look like Sniper. A very angry Sniper whose knees were digging straight into his back. But it couldn't be him, it couldn't. And yet Scout could feel the blood pulsing through Sniper's hand. A pulse.

"Snipa? Are you really Snipa?" Scout wheezed.

"Last Oi checked. Whot kind of question is that?"

"Prove it."

"Whot?" The thing that might be Sniper seemed or acted confused.

"Prove it." Scout gasped, the weight on his lungs kept them from filling. The edges of his vision were blackening. It felt like his own tongue was choking him.

"Prove it how?"

"G-get… off.. m..e..!" A sound of understanding was followed by the pressure lifting. Scout gasped and sputtered, swallowing as much of the stuffy, coffee scented air as he could. Maybe-Sniper was standing over him saying something but Scout wasn't listening. It let him go. Was it just trying to gain his trust before it did whatever it does? He didn't know, and it worried him. Not scared, Scout didn't get scared, but it did make him concerned. He turned to look at Possibly-Sniper.

"-but ya can't jus start pointing pistols at the first person who jus walks by." He had been talking to him. Man, it even sounded like him! If it was that thing, and it was just acting like this to gain Scout's trust, he had to admit it was doing a pretty darn good job.

He wanted to trust the Sniper standing over him, just to know that he wasn't the only one… the only one… Scout's mind wouldn't let him finish that train of thought. But he couldn't trust him, not yet. And there was one sure fire way of knowing if it really was his teammate.

Scout sat up, wiping the blood from his drying nose. Sniper looked at him with an expecting stare, waiting for Scout to say something. And the younger man did.

"Is it rainin'?" Scout's voice was thick and nasally.

"Mate, it's always raining in this part of the country. We're barely outside Sawmill's territory."

"If you're really Snipa, then go stand in da rain." He tried to sound as serious as possible, even glaring at the towering man to add that little extra 'mmph'. And thankfully, Sniper didn't smirk when Scout's voice cracked as he said his name. He instead gave Scout a look, went over to the door, and walked out.

Scout scrambled to his feet and watched as Sniper walked into the downpour, turned around to look him in the eye, and raise his arms as if to ask "is this what you wanted?" And it was, it was exactly what Scout needed to see. Sniper still looked like Sniper, even as the rain kept falling, peppering him with water. No sign of bending limbs at impossible angles, or baring more teeth than a human should have, or having his skin turn into colors skin should never be.

Sniper had survived too.

"Ya owe me for that bullet hole in moi wall now." Sniper grumbled as he passed another clean cloth to Scout, who was currently trying to wipe away all the mud that made his face look like a cow pie. After Sniper had apparently passed the "Are You Sniper?" test, Scout had rushed him like a dog seeing their owner come home and managed to dive face first into the muddy road when his injured ankle buckled under him. Now they were both in Sniper's van with himself cold and wet and Scout annoyed and filthy. He had been tempted to force the kid to stand in the rain to wash the dirt off, but Scout was already wounded and getting him sick would just make things worse.

"Yeah, whatever," Scout groaned, wiping away the mud from his jaw. "Ya still didn't answa my question."

"There's still some dirt under your left eye."

"Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious." Scout glared at the bushman as he searched for some dry clothes. Sniper found an old green top and slipped it on. It was a lot bigger than he remembered. He also found his spare pair of aviators and placed them on the bridge of his nose. When he turned back around, he saw Scout staring down and picking at the bandaged stump that used to be his left hand and forearm.

The sputtering of Sniper's coffee machine was the only noise filling the strained silence of the small camper van. He leaned back onto his counter and gestured towards the kid's missing limb.

"So how'd that happen-"

"No!" Scout snapped. "You don't get ta ask me questions when you still haven't answerd mine. How da h*ll did you survive?"

"Look mate, Oi honestly couldn't tell ya. All Oi remember was waking up from under moi nest's collapsed roof, and that moi head had taken a beating. Rain was pouring and Oi was soaked. Oi reckoned we had been attacked by the REDs- yeah, Oi know they were moved to Harvest a week ago, Scout, Oi jus forgot at the time. Anyway, Oi searched our base for anyone who might still be fighting or injured, but there was no one. Not a single soul, and at first it seemed like there had never been anyone living in our base. Thought Oi'd gone loony.

"Oi kept looking, calling for our team. But no one called back. Our base was destroyed and there was no one. No bodies, no sign of a fight, no blood. At least, not till Oi reached the ground floor. Oi missed something there, some kind of fight happened when Oi was out for the count. Again, though, there was nobody. So Oi figured that maybe someone had taken the van and escaped- quit interrupting, Oi know it would have been a good idea, that's whoi Oi thought someone would have done it.

"Turns out nobody did, and Oi was left to try and piece together whot had happened. Yes, that's when Oi remembered RED's moving, now quit talking, Oi'm almost done. Oi saw a trail of blood headed out the open garage door and followed it, hoping to find someone since it was all Oi had to go off of. Except Oi forgot how hard it had been raining. The rain had washed it all away. Then Oi heard your pistol firing. And it's a good thing you used it cause if Oi hadn't heard it, Oi probably wouldn't have stayed to find you.

"Oi ran to where Oi heard the gunshots and you jus barreled out of the woods looking like some crazed animal. You were covered in blood, missing an arm, and so wet that ya shone. Didn't help that you were as pale as a ghost- that wasn't an insult, Scout, Oi'm jus stating what ya looked like then!" Sniper sighed when it seemed that Scout still wasn't convinced.

"So then ya fainted- okay, okay, ya passed out, that better? Ya passed out and luckily you were still breathing so I brought ya back to moi van and left. That's about it." Sniper took a sip of the coffee he got himself during his story. It was bitter but the mug was hot against his cold hands.

"Dat's it? You just… left? Ya didn't even look ta see what did… everythin'?"

"Well it's probably a good thing Oi didn't, because if Oi spent any more precious minutes at that place, you'd have died from your wounds before Oi'd be able to wrap them, so you're welcome." Sniper took another swig as he watched Scout squirm under his cold stare and begin picking at his bandages harder. He thought he heard the kid mutter something that sounded like "thank you" and honestly, that was the best he could hope to get right now.

"So now are ya going to tell me whot happened that made ya lose your arm?" Scout squirmed more, looking everywhere but at Sniper.

"NNNHhhhhhhh, fine, okay! I'll bite!" Scout groaned. "I was walkin' down da road, my ankle was killing me, and I just rememba thinkin' "I gotta get away, I gotta get away, I gotta get away. Keep movin', keep movin', keep movin'!" It felt like I was just walkin' in place, though! I wasn't getting any farther from dat hellhole! And, and then, and then I heard it howlin'.

"I don't know what happened next. One second I was just on da road and it was nice and quiet. Da next I was running through da trees with dat thing chasin' me! An' it was screamin' and roarin' and kept comin straight for me."

"Did it catch ya?" What a stupid question to ask. Sniper didn't even know what this thing Scout was talking about looked like or if Scout's retelling was accurate. The kid had been known to exaggerate stories and add to the fact that Scout was full of adrenaline at the time and Sniper had more than enough reason to be skeptical. But something had to have ripped Scout's arm off.

"I dunno, man! Everything just went white after dat! I don't remember even havin' my pistol with me! No pain, no exhaustion, nothin'! Da only thing left was da freakin' rain fallin' on me! Dat stuck with me for some stupid freakin' reason. And then I was steppin' in mud and you were there and it was dark and wet and then I blacked out. And da next thing I knew I was slamming my freakin' head on your camper's stupid low ceiling!"

"It's not low, the bed's just high up."

"Well then your bed's stupid high!"

"You're lucky ya didn't leave a dent in my ceiling or you'd have owned me more."

"Screw you."

"Musta been some dream." Sniper muttered, "And ya keep talkin' about this "Thing" like ya don't know what it is."

"It is a thing!" Scout retorted.

"Well, whot does it look like, then?"

Something shifted in Scout's attitude. Or was it his posture? Sniper couldn't place what exactly changed in his companion. But something did.

"I… I don't, I don't know," Scout mumbled, finding his arm's wrappings far more interesting than everything else. "Kinda… kinda like a worm, maybe? Except it's more limby. No, no dat isn't it. It's a wall, or, or a… and it's big and grows small at da same time. But, it's not, too?"

"Kid, you're not making any sense."

"I'm tryin' ta explain it, alright!? Nhhgh, okay, okay, it's like… Jeez! What's da word? Like, turning into something else? Like, like shiftin' or somethin'!... MORPHIN', dat's it! It morphs, it doesn't have shape, it steals them! A thief is what it is! Like Spy but worse!"

"Oi'm still not really gettin it; the only animal on Earth that changes its appearance is a chameleon and even then it's just its color."

"It ain't a freakin' animal, Snipa!" Scout slammed his fist onto the table. "It's something else! I dunno what! Da closest I can think of is a wave!-"

The boy's sudden silence was more of a shock than his table beating. Scout's eyes glazed over, wide and focused on something Sniper couldn't see, and his face seemed to pale. He had brought up his hand to his throat as if he had just been choked. And the expression he made while rubbing his neck made Scout look like he was about to hurl.

The silence was only broken by the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window panes. Deciding that Scout wasn't going to talk without more interaction, Sniper asked the one question he believed he already knew the answer to. But if there was even a chance he was wrong, it was worth asking.

"Scout, do… do ya reckon that anyone else survived?"

Scout didn't meet Sniper's gaze, he didn't have too. Shaking his head with weak movements, the runner stared down at his one remaining hand.

"No." It was blunt and hoarse. "We're da only ones left."