The Last Hunger

I remember the moment my hunger changed. When the gnawing in my gut transformed from a desire for sustenance into something darker, more primitive. The doctors called it the Harbinger Virus. I called it liberation. I find myself drinking in the memories

The first hours were the worst. My nerve endings fired like live wires, sending waves of agony through my body as the infection rewrote my genetic code. I watched my skin turn a mottled gray, felt my muscles tear and reform. But the pain wasn't what broke me. It was the hunger.

Oh god, the hunger.

They quarantined me in the hospital's isolation ward. Through the observation window, I could see the medical staff in their hazmat suits, taking notes on tablets as my transformation progressed. Their fear was palpable, even through layers of protective gear. I could smell it – a new sense that emerged as my old ones dulled.

Dr. Chen was different. She spoke to me like I was still human, even as my humanity slipped away. "Fight it, Michael," she'd say. "Stay with us." But I could smell something else on her too: guilt. She knew more about this virus than she let on.

The hunger grew stronger with each passing hour. Hospital food turned to ash in my mouth. I craved something else, something raw and vital. The orderly who brought my meals started to smell like a feast.

By day three, my thoughts had fragmented. Memory and identity became fluid concepts, washing away like watercolors in the rain. But hunger remained constant, crystalline in its clarity. I began to understand that hunger wasn't just an urge – it was communication. The virus spoke through it, whispering ancient imperatives.

They didn't notice when my restraints began to fray. Why would they? The other patients they'd studied remained docile until the end. But I was different. Patient zero. The prototype. While they documented my deterioration, I was evolving.

The night I escaped, the moon hung full and bloated in the sky. I remember because it looked like flesh, pale and perfect. Dr. Chen was working late, reviewing my charts when I broke free. The look in her eyes when I crashed through the observation window – it wasn't just fear. It was recognition. She saw what she'd created.

"You knew," I growled, my voice like gravel. "You knew what this would become."

She didn't deny it. "We were trying to cure death," she whispered. "To push human evolution forward."

I laughed, a wet sound that echoed off sterile walls. "Congratulations, Doctor. Evolution achieved."

I didn't kill her. That surprises people, when I tell this story to the others like me. But death isn't the point. The virus doesn't want to end life – it wants to transform it. That's what the hunger teaches us. Each person we infect joins the collective, adds their consciousness to the hivemind that grows stronger every day.

Now, months later, I lead a pack of the transformed. We hunt in the abandoned suburbs, converting those we catch. Some fight the change, clinging to their humanity like a security blanket. Others embrace it, like I did. They understand that humanity's time is ending. A new species is emerging from the ashes of the old world.

The hunger never goes away, but it changes. These days, it's less about flesh and more about purpose. We are the harbingers of change, the first wave of a revolution written in genetic code. Each night, I dream of Dr. Chen's face, of the moment she realized her creation had surpassed her vision.

Sometimes, in quiet moments between hunts, I feel echoes of my old self. Memories of a life filled with mundane concerns – deadlines, relationships, bills. It seems absurd now, how much energy we wasted on things that didn't matter. The virus strips away pretense, leaves only raw truth behind.

The military thinks they can contain us. They've built walls, established quarantine zones, developed weapons specifically designed to target our mutated DNA. But they don't understand what they're fighting. We're not a plague to be cured or an enemy to be defeated. We're the next step. The hunger that drives us is evolution's command, and evolution cannot be denied.

Last week, we picked up a new scent on the wind. Chemical. Artificial. The kind of smell that makes our enhanced senses recoil. Intelligence suggests they're working on a cure, something to reverse the virus's effects. They don't realize there's no going back. You can't cure what you've become.

The others look to me for leadership, not because I'm strongest or fastest, but because I remember. I can still string thoughts together, plan strategies, speak in complete sentences. The virus affects everyone differently. Most lose themselves entirely to instinct. But some of us, the early ones, we retain enough of our old selves to bridge both worlds. We remember being human, and we understand why humanity must change.

Dr. Chen is out there somewhere. I catch her scent sometimes, in the ruins of research facilities we raid. She's still working, still trying to undo what she created. I look forward to finding her again. Not to harm her – but to show her how beautiful her creation has become. How perfect.

The sun is setting now, and the hunger grows stronger. My pack stirs, ready for the night's hunt. In the distance, I hear military helicopters, their rotors cutting through the air like dull knives. They'll try to stop us, like they always do. But you can't stop the future. You can only choose to become part of it.

The hunger calls, and we answer. We are evolution's children, and tonight, we feast on the past.

Sometimes I wonder if Dr. Chen knew the true scope of what she was creating – if she glimpsed the potential sleeping in those engineered viral strands. Last night, we discovered something new: the children born to our converted are different. They emerge into the world already transformed, their tiny bodies perfectly adapted to this new reality. They never know the pain of change because they're born complete. Their hunger is pure, unsullied by memories of humanity. They are the true next generation, and watching them grow fills me with a pride that transcends my former understanding of the emotion. In their eyes, I see not just our future, but the future of all life on Earth. The Harbinger Virus isn't just changing individuals – it's rewriting the very story of evolution itself.