Variant Strain

- - -

Peter had always been good with numbers. The conscious and sub-conscious bits of calculation that let one figure out where a thrown object was going to land was part of that. So was determining where a swung object would arrive at a given point in time.

That had always come easily to him. The main stumbling block between Peter and burgeoning sports career mainly lay in the fact that he still hadn't quite entirely hit his growth spurt, for one. For another, his poorly coordinated, nonathletic body was absolutely terrible at following the commands his brain kept trying to supply. All the meticulous and neatly calculated equations in the world won't let you get a basketball into the hoop unless you could actually get your arms to generate the correct forces at the necessary angles on a consistent basis.

This had previously been the problem.

On the other hand, Peter's transformations had removed that limitation from him. He watched the hulking once-human beasts charge at him. The one closest leaped towards Peter and his mind whirled.

He dashed two steps toward the leaping Hunter, driving his arm forward with a straight-armed blow from his shoulder. As his foot planed down and he delivered the punch, he let the heat suffuse him, the red haze shifting mass back from wherever it was that it had been tucked away. He felt the full weight of his body fill him for just fraction of a second. Hundreds of pounds. Just long enough to meet the Hunter.

It probably still outweighed him by a good two or three hundred pounds. More if it had the same density trick that he had, but there really hadn't been much time to consider these things.

His fist smashed into the leaping Hunter's face, with a sickening crack. He felt the muzzle of the thing crumple against his knuckles, it's own weight driving it forward and down onto Peter. It's head stayed in place, but it's momentum, caused it's body to continue forward practically flipping it's torso and too small feet towards Peter. He leaned in to the punch, continuing the motion downward, arresting the Hunter's forward momentum entirely and smashing it into the concrete, breaking through the carpet of flesh underfoot.

His body flashed with heat and haze once more and the weight left, but he could feel that he'd burned through more of his biomass with that trick. He couldn't pull it off on all of them, he'd end up burning himself out entirely and he wasn't sure what would happen if he did that.

That was even assuming the rest would fall for it. The other Hunters stopped and regarded him warily. The animal cunning in their eyes told him that no, they weren't going to fall for it. It wasn't going to be quite that easy.

He pulled his hand back, straightening up even as his fingers whipped into a frenzy of tendrils, absorbing the blood and bone chips into his flesh. The face on the one he'd punched had collapsed into itself, but it was like Cletus all over again. Despite an injury that would've killed anything less robust, the Hunter's limbs still twitched and flailed spasmodically, it's chest heaved and pulled whistling breaths through it's ruin of a face. On the other hand, it didn't look like it was going to get up any time soon.

He hoped.

He stood and glared at the other four Hunters, then back to Jessica over his shoulder. "Call them off." He growled with a bravado he did not feel.

She gave him a small, pleased little smile and shook her head. "Make it messy," She whispered in her husky voice. She leaned against one of the tables, then scooted herself up onto it, crossing her ankles demurely. The move was just all the more alluring given that she was still only wearing a thin sheet.

Peter noted absently that she was either cold... or enjoying herself a great deal.

He paid for that momentary inattention as two of the great beasts surged forward. Running, not leaping. Peter tried to move out of their range, but their arms were deceptively long and despite their bulk, whip-swift. One massive paw tore four brutal lines across his shoulder. The other missed his head, but only by a whisper. He back-peddled madly as the two began clawing and swiping at him. Another swat burned lines of fire across his chest. All the cuts were bleeding profusely.

His heart beat harshly and terror surged up his spine. He was going to die. He was certain of it.

He was forced to keep leaping, ducking and dodging, fear lending him even greater speed. He was just barely keeping from being torn apart by their claws. As the two engaged him, the other two moved to his flanks, herding him, forcing him between them all. He recognized what they were doing. Discovery channel to the rescue again. Wolf-pack tactics. Harry the prey. Keep it disoriented, terrorized and confused between their coordinated assault.

He felt a flare of temper that cut sharply through his fear. He wasn't prey. He was not going to let them get the satisfaction of treating him like that.

This wasn't Flash Thompson chasing him down for his lunch money, came his thoughts, If he lost, he was going to die.

The weaving chase had led Peter almost halfway around the room. The Hunters had caught him a few more cuts. Smaller ones. He wasn't tiring yet, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before they pinned him down. Once they did, they were going to tear him apart.

And there was Jessica, still smiling sweetly, smelling delicious and watching as though the whole thing interested her as much as watching a group of kittens playing.

His anger flared hotter. He had never really been much of a fighter. Cletus's plundered memories and reflexes had given him some advantages but they weren't going to be enough. He needed more. But that was the trick wasn't it? He realized. Every fight he'd been in had always given him more afterwards. Every new victim... every life he snuffed out made him that much stronger.

He needed exactly the weapon he'd taken advantage of in every fight he'd been in so far.

He swallowed down his revulsion. They'd been reduced to animals. Whatever else they might once have been, whatever kind of people they were before this monstrous thing had happened to them, right here, right now, they were monsters who were trying to kill him.

They had to be stopped so they couldn't hurt anyone else.

At the moment, y'all need 'em stopped so they don't hurt you. Cletus laughed.

He stopped in mid-dodge, no longer trying to avoid the vicious clawed hand swiping at him. He braced himself and did a high-kick that would've done any cheerleader proud, bringing one leg flashing straight up past his head.

The move was flashy and would probably have served no real useful purpose, save that he'd changed his feet into a Drago's clawed talons. His planted foot digging into the concrete to brace himself, the other, extending razor sharp blades through the attacking Hunter's arm near the elbow. The move sliced it's forearm off cleanly.

It howled in agony, withdrawing it's stump, but Peter caught the severed massively clawed hand as it fell and gripped it by the still bleeding cut end.

He swiped it at the other Hunter that had already started it's own attack and grinned savagely as it tore bleeding lines across it's tumorous face. It snarled, but fell back slightly.

That gave him a moment's breathing room as the two others tried to close in.

They moved well together. Coordinated. He suspected Jessica was directing them somehow or there was some sort of pack instinct inherent with becoming a Kavenov strain Hunter. It was their main advantage.

Well... aside from being over seven feet tall, tremendously strong, and having massive bladed claws on their hands.

Peter leaped forward and drove both feet into maimed Hunter's chest. He let the heat flare momentarily, his mass returning to full so that the sudden shift in momentum let him drive his talons deep into the thing's chest, piercing skin, cutting into muscle. His full weight smashing into the Hunter overbalanced it, forcing it onto its back.

A tiny portion of his mind complained angrily about the indignities he was doing to the law of conservation of momentum, but the rest of him was too busy to deal with that.

His weight went back to normal and he groaned to feel more of his biomass boiled away by that trick. It didn't matter though if it worked.

He clenched the talons at his feet, trying to rip through the rib-cage so he could get to it's heart... wherever that was, but the bones were too hard and he didn't have enough leverage. The blow that took it's forearm off had been lucky, catching it at the joint and cutting through the connective tissue and gristle.

The Hunter under him did not react well to being pinned down. It reached up, intending to grab him with it's uninjured limb, but Peter swatted it away contemptuously with it's own severed hand. He noted absently that his hand had already begun unfolding into tendrils and had already partially absorbed the clawed forearm into his fist.

He smashed down, driving his free hand into the Hunter's face, pounding it hard enough into the concrete to crack it. It seemed momentarily dazed by the blow and that really was all Peter needed.

The talons driven into the Hunter shifted, becoming tendrils and he began to feed on it from the inside out.

Beneath him it screamed, high and keening. The others reacted instantly, diving at Peter to try and rip him off his victim. He did the numbers in his head. There was no way to finish feeding before their claws could get to him. He really wished he could do it faster, he could feel the tendrils from his feet writhing within the thing's chest and mid-section, but there was a lot to consume. The Hunter was huge. With huge guts, his voice drawled at him. Rip and tear.

He didn't have the luxury of standing still. He immediately relinquished his taloned grip on the flailing Hunter and half-leaped, half-scrambled away, his feeding tendrils flailing in protest at being interrupted. One of the uninjured Hunters actually landed on the one he'd mauled, claws tearing into it's half-collapsed chest, eliciting another agonized cry from the fallen Hunter. The one with the sliced open face snarled and managed to slice a still-flailing feeding tendril from his leg, a burning, white-hot agony. He landed in a sprawl on his stomach and scrambled to his feet.

He had deep, bleeding wounds all over his body. Behind him, a feeding tendril flopped around, one end severed clean. He was reeling and woozy. They were getting close to taking him apart, but he'd managed what he'd really intended to do.

They and Jessica were all on one end of the room.

Behind him, he had a clear shot to the door.

He hesitated for the barest fraction of a second as his primary instinct to make a run for it warred with a hungry, furious part of him that wanted payback. We can take them, Cletus snarled. He noted absently that the forearm he'd been holding was gone.

His gaze met Jessica's, whose glowing red eyes regarded him with mild confusion. Her lips still curled up though and she beckoned invitingly once more. Whether it was her original implied offer or to taste what the Hunters offered, Peter wasn't sure.

What finally decided him was the first Hunter he'd put down. It was next to him and it shook itself, rolling over to get back onto it's feet. The carpet of coils and tendrils under it was withered and dedicated, Peter noted. It's face was still half-collapsed, but it had regained control of it's limbs and to the best that Peter was able to tell given it's complete lack of expression... it was ready for some payback.

That was it.

He ran for it, bursting out the door of the accommodation area.

They gave chase.

They were fast. Perhaps a tiny bit faster than he was. On a straight run, they probably would have caught him easily, but Peter wasn't making it easy. He jinked back and forth between the twists, taking turns at random. He was going with such speed that he'd had to practically run along the walls in places to take the turns he needed.

Even if the Hunters hadn't been keeping him within sight, they would have had no trouble chasing him down from the trail of blood he'd been leaving behind him. The pain from his wounds had stopped at least. The smaller wounds had already knit closed, but the larger ones kept reopening as he ran. He needed to stop somewhere and let those actually seal back up, but he didn't dare.

Jessica's glorious scent had been left behind and his mind was clear once more. Clear and in the process of getting chased by four angry Hunters. He really should've listened to himself when he said he'd wanted to leave.

Just as he bounced off another corner and into another long straight run corridor that ended in a T-intersection, he caught scents approaching. Fast. Plastic and gunpowder. His hearing caught boots, running hard and coming up to turn the far corner. Heartbeats, At least twenty men. And more than that.

He came to a decision and leaped for the T-intersection at the end of the corridor. Mid-air, he shifted outfits. The process closed up some of his wounds and the new clothes formed on top of his injuries. He could feel the wounds stay open, but they were out of sight. He landed in a roll in front of a Tracker, still in the uniform black hoodie and black jeans, which recoiled at his sudden appearance then began to growl.

Behind it were armed men in the beekeeper style hazmat uniforms, their weapons at the ready. The Thunderbolts were there and aiming their guns at him.

He pointed behind him and cried out. "Get back! Incoming!"

"Where the blazes did you come from?" The man in the lead asked. Peter recognized Sargeant Talbot's voice.

The Tracker's warning snarl interrupted Peter's needing to answer the awkward question. That was the only sound it was able to make before the lead Hunter, one of the uninjured ones crashed into it and began tearing it apart.

Peter took off in the direction away from the Thunderbolts, hoping to lure the Hunters away from them. He hadn't wanted to get anyone else in danger. Not even the jerks who'd shot him in the head. Unfortunately, they were too close and far too inclined to catch the Hunter's attentions. He heard explosions and gunfire behind him. He could hear bullets whining past as he poured on the speed. He chanced a glance behind him and noticed that there were only two Hunters still following him. The one with the half-collapsed face and the other that still sported the cuts. The other two had stopped to play with the Thunderbolts.

From Peter's brief glance, it looked like the Thunderbolts played hard. One Hunter appeared to already be down, torn apart by concentrated gunfire and the other was staggering back from what looked like a grenade explosion.

Which was good on the one hand, but now he would probably have dedicated Hydra killers after him as well as the Hunters.

It was at that point his cellphone alarm went off.

On top of everything else... he was running late too.

Peter and his Hunter playmates lost the Thunderbolts within minutes. None of them could've kept up. He was sure they'd get to Jessica's little hive in the accomodations area. They looked like they knew what they were doing. They were the professionals.

He really wished he didn't feel like he was abandoning them, but he had to go. He couldn't let them catch him. Another turn and Peter found himself pounding his way up to the entrance he'd come in through.

The way out was through there. And so was the hospital.

He didn't dare lead them there. He'd have to stand his ground again and hope that he'd have better luck with two than he'd had with four. Except that had been before he'd worn himself out running. Before they'd injured him. He could feel his blood sloshing inside his Thunderbolts uniform. He actually felt tired now, the first time since he'd really been this bone-weary exhausted since the changes had taken him, but he didn't dare rest.

Not til he'd gotten away. Or settled things.

A detail suddenly brought itself to the forefront of his attention once more. The biometric lock on the door needed a second or two to open.

That was it then.

Dead end.

Emphasis on dead.

Peter ran full speed at the door. There wasn't any helping it now. He let the heat flare once more and the red haze surrounded him, his weight shifting to draw him towards the door, allowing him continue his run vertically up, then another flare of heat and he was running on the ceiling. Then, speed still mostly intact, he leaped 'up' from his perspective, down from the normal one and let gravity take hold of him normally once more and flipped, driving talons first into the face of the rearmost Hunter before either of them had had a chance to react.

One taloned foot caught at the thing's throat and he tore at it messily. The other smashed into it's head, driving deep into the already collapsed muzzle and he wiggled his foot around...

Like sticking an egg-beater into someone's eye. Cletus murmured approvingly.

The Hunter fell, thrashing once more. It had no control over it's limbs, but it's wild flailing made it obvious that it still wasn't dead. Peter was sure it could recover from even this, but he didn't need to outright kill it now. Just incapacitate it while he dealt with...

The second Hunter with the clawed face smashed a fist into his chest, throwing him into the curved wall. Peter coughed up blood inside the beekeeper helmet. He could feel at least one rib broken. Possibly piercing his lung. The others were bruised at the very least.

He grit his teeth as the beast lunged. It seemed to savor his weakness and it was eager to end their game.

He threw himself to one side as the Hunter dove at him. His side screamed in pain, but he fought it down. Fought down the terrible, aching hunger and exhaustion. He couldn't give in to it. He couldn't let it think for him.

It raked claws at him and he ducked aside once more, the pain in his side stabbing deeply into him, even though the Hunter missed. He got into position behind it and jumped onto it's back, wrapping an arm around it's huge neck.

The Hunter snarled and turned, intending to slam Peter against the wall and scrape him off, but that was exactly what he'd counted on. He swung his legs out suddenly. Taloned feet embedding in the wall to give him the purchase he needed.

One arm tightened it's grip around it's throat and his body began to unfold itself around the struggling Hunter. If he had a more reliable way of putting the thing down and making sure it stayed down he would have used it. That's what he kept telling himself as his tendrils drove deep into the open wounds in the Hunter's face.

That he was starving right now, having used up a massive chunk of his biomass in fighting them just made the decision to put the Hunter down by consuming it all the easier.

"-- what's happening?!"

"-- never change, it's part of the poi--"

"He did what to Sleeping Beauty?! That's sick!"

"Called in to work late, sorry, hon--"

"-- ders were to assemble in the Accomodations area. I don't know wha--"

"Ohgod. Ohgod. Ohgod. Don't let them tou--"

"I'm... uh ohgod... I'm a married ma-- ohgod..."

"Yes, mistresssss..."

He shuddered and dropped down heavily onto the floor. It... he... the Hunter had only recently been turned. Not so far gone that his conscious mind had been entirely destroyed. Whatever Jessica had done to him, whatever had turned him into a Hunter had blasted his own name from his own mind, but a few scraps of personality and memory remained. They probably wouldn't have lasted more than a few days, but Peter, had lucked out and now they were part of him.

He shook his head to clear it and walked towards the thrashing second Hunter. It made whistling and gurgling noises from it's ruined throat. It would almost be a mercy, Peter told himself. He couldn't risk the thing hurting anyone else...

The Thunderbolts looked like they knew what they were doing. They could probably put this thing down. You just want another meal, His mental voice drawled. Hell, ripping it's head off would probably do the trick.

Probably, he agreed. But he couldn't afford to wait and he couldn't afford to risk it. He was already going to be running late and he had to get away and it had to be done. Another life to steal.

He hated what he had become.

He spread his fingers, his hands blurred and became massive, lethal claws that would've been a match for any of the Hunters. He drove them into the flailing Hunter's chest and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the rush of a new set of memories as his feeding tendrils unfolded themselves from his arms and his body.

He opened his eyes after a few moments in confusion.

There had been nothing. Nothing else that he'd eaten before had given him absolutely nothing. No shreds of memories. No sense of identity. No lingering traces of its life in his mind. Just... bio-mass.

Maybe pureeing it's brain before eating it makes the difference. You couldn't copy the Drago's broken wings, maybe you can't get memories out of a broken brain. He told himself.

Y'all should run some experiments. Eat folk with and without scrambled brains. See which ones have memories that stick. Cletus supplied helpfully. Wordless, hungry agreement echoed in his mind.

- - -