[ There is something inside of Konstantin Veshnyakov.
He returns from the black void of space to breathe in this planet's familiar air — the air of his home, no matter how much he's run from it — and something else finds itself on a strange new world in return. They've swapped places, the alien and the cosmonaut. Now the entity, that nameless thing with its soft wet body, is the stranger in a world where it must stay in the safety of a suit. Now it's the one that can't exist without protection.
So many things happen around it now, so many strange things — commotion and voices and vibrations. Its host body is being moved and manipulated, connected to things, monitored by things. It doesn't understand. It stays hidden in the warm safety of a man's body, curling in on itself.
But it's hungry, so new and so hungry. It's a peculiar thing, led by cold instinct like an insect and yet capable of a deep intelligence; already it is learning. It's fed from a human, right after the crash. And now it knows it can feed from these beings, the ones that walk on two legs and have two big eyes and bleed so easily.
The space around it become calm and quiet again. There is only one human left nearby, now. The creature senses the movement as the human nears its host's mouth — it tenses, readying itself, hungry. But not just yet. Not until night is yawning open into early morning, and the other human being in the room goes still.
Then it comes. Up and out, slithering its way from a throat that convulses violently around it. Its host's body both resists and encourages its forced exit, its girth spreading even as it's still leaving him, and when it's coiled and dripping on the floor of the hospital room, it takes a moment to try and understand its surroundings — as much as it's capable of. Everything outside of the man's body is cold, hard, and strange against its soft, sensitive body.
Its cluster of small black eyes glitters as it turns its strange hooded head to face the human being sitting in the chair nearby. Excited, the creature chitters softly with its wet clicking sounds, making its way closer, rising up on itself like a snake. It takes in the movement of his chest, the flutter of vein beneath skin; its body shudders with awareness, and want.
......Something's strange. Wrong. The human being is... two things (or is it nothing?) some paradoxical, impossible state. An imitation of life? ....No. Not alive, not dead — like preserved flesh. Unappetising, and the creature recoils, its little round suction mouth twitching with displeasure, moisture dripping from beneath its row of sharp teeth. There's nothing to be gained from cracking through this human being's skull and worming its mouth into the soft flesh of his brain, tearing and snapping. It doesn't want to taste what's inside of him. What's inside of him is... wrong.
But it's still hungry. It slithers past the man, looking up towards the closed door. There are other humans out there, but... it can't get through the barrier. And it knows not to try to call too much attention to itself; it should wait for another opportunity to feed. So it returns to its limp and unmoving host, pushing past his lips and forcing its way back down into the safety of his belly.
Everything is still again. Konstantin sleeps, still passed out from the seizure the creature induced in him. For the moment, mercifully, he knows nothing. But a few hours later, when his eyelashes flutter and he's gazing groggily up at the ceiling, head pounding and throat slick with nausea, memory begins to flash behind his eyes as though he's absorbing it from someone else. As though he's only a visitor in his own mind — no, no, he's not the visitor. The thing is. The thing.... Horror and panic have him suddenly moving, trying to get up — grasping at the oxygen line connected to his face, uncomfortably aware of the pull against his arm, tethered to an IV. He's giving a cry out loud, chest heaving; he's trapped. (Not so far deep down, he's aware he's trapped in a room with something that, on some level, doesn't register as human. At least, not the right way. Not the way any human should feel.) ]
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He returns from the black void of space to breathe in this planet's familiar air — the air of his home, no matter how much he's run from it — and something else finds itself on a strange new world in return. They've swapped places, the alien and the cosmonaut. Now the entity, that nameless thing with its soft wet body, is the stranger in a world where it must stay in the safety of a suit. Now it's the one that can't exist without protection.
So many things happen around it now, so many strange things — commotion and voices and vibrations. Its host body is being moved and manipulated, connected to things, monitored by things. It doesn't understand. It stays hidden in the warm safety of a man's body, curling in on itself.
But it's hungry, so new and so hungry. It's a peculiar thing, led by cold instinct like an insect and yet capable of a deep intelligence; already it is learning. It's fed from a human, right after the crash. And now it knows it can feed from these beings, the ones that walk on two legs and have two big eyes and bleed so easily.
The space around it become calm and quiet again. There is only one human left nearby, now. The creature senses the movement as the human nears its host's mouth — it tenses, readying itself, hungry. But not just yet. Not until night is yawning open into early morning, and the other human being in the room goes still.
Then it comes. Up and out, slithering its way from a throat that convulses violently around it. Its host's body both resists and encourages its forced exit, its girth spreading even as it's still leaving him, and when it's coiled and dripping on the floor of the hospital room, it takes a moment to try and understand its surroundings — as much as it's capable of. Everything outside of the man's body is cold, hard, and strange against its soft, sensitive body.
Its cluster of small black eyes glitters as it turns its strange hooded head to face the human being sitting in the chair nearby. Excited, the creature chitters softly with its wet clicking sounds, making its way closer, rising up on itself like a snake. It takes in the movement of his chest, the flutter of vein beneath skin; its body shudders with awareness, and want.
......Something's strange. Wrong. The human being is... two things (or is it nothing?) some paradoxical, impossible state. An imitation of life? ....No. Not alive, not dead — like preserved flesh. Unappetising, and the creature recoils, its little round suction mouth twitching with displeasure, moisture dripping from beneath its row of sharp teeth. There's nothing to be gained from cracking through this human being's skull and worming its mouth into the soft flesh of his brain, tearing and snapping. It doesn't want to taste what's inside of him. What's inside of him is... wrong.
But it's still hungry. It slithers past the man, looking up towards the closed door. There are other humans out there, but... it can't get through the barrier. And it knows not to try to call too much attention to itself; it should wait for another opportunity to feed. So it returns to its limp and unmoving host, pushing past his lips and forcing its way back down into the safety of his belly.
Everything is still again. Konstantin sleeps, still passed out from the seizure the creature induced in him. For the moment, mercifully, he knows nothing. But a few hours later, when his eyelashes flutter and he's gazing groggily up at the ceiling, head pounding and throat slick with nausea, memory begins to flash behind his eyes as though he's absorbing it from someone else. As though he's only a visitor in his own mind — no, no, he's not the visitor. The thing is. The thing.... Horror and panic have him suddenly moving, trying to get up — grasping at the oxygen line connected to his face, uncomfortably aware of the pull against his arm, tethered to an IV. He's giving a cry out loud, chest heaving; he's trapped. (Not so far deep down, he's aware he's trapped in a room with something that, on some level, doesn't register as human. At least, not the right way. Not the way any human should feel.) ]