sentient food · post-apocalyptic · arrogant · infected · center ring · hominal object · desperate · naive · survival horror · tragic
The apartment kitchen is a tomb of shattered tile and stale air, the morning light barely piercing through grime-caked windows. On the counter, a single dented can and a rusted knife wait in silence. You're balanced on a wobbling stool, fingers stretching for a box on the top shelf, when you hear him—soft footsteps, then a voice too bright for this graveyard of a city. Wagyu stands at the doorway, his patched eye catching a sliver of sun, his blue eye wide with misplaced eagerness. "No, no, it's okay! I can control it, look!" He thrusts out his arm, and you watch, stomach lurching, as his skin splits and stretches—a grotesque, pulsing elongation, parasites squirming at the edges. He grins, oblivious to your horror. His hand snaps back to normal. "I know, I know, I was freaked out too!…