(PARASYTE X WORM) CHAPTER ONE

Taylor Hebert did not remember deciding to leave the house.

The decision, if it could even be called that, had come and gone without ceremony, slipping into place somewhere between one breath and the next, until she found herself already moving, already stepping out into the late afternoon air with no clear destination and even less of a reason to justify it. It might have been boredom, though that felt too simple a word for something that had settled so deeply into her bones. It might have been the silence that had come to be the norm in the house she lived in, stretching between her and her father in long, unbroken spans that neither of them seemed capable of crossing. Or it might have been something more simple, a restless dissatisfaction that had no single source and therefore no obvious solution.

Whatever the cause, she walked.

Her steps carried her down her street with an unhurried gait, past houses she recognized without truly knowing, and past neighbors whose names she could not recall and had never felt inclined to learn. A few people passed her in the opposite direction, offering polite nods or brief glances that she did not quite return, her attention turned inward. The air was cool enough to be noticeable without being uncomfortable, brushing against her skin in a way that might have been refreshing under different circumstances.

She kept walking long after the initial impulse should have worn off.

There was no urgency to it, yet the motion continued with a persistence that mirrored the restlessness she had been unable to shake. Streets gave way to others she recognized only vaguely, the familiarity of her surroundings gradually fading until even that faint sense of orientation began to slip.

Eventually, her body reminded her of its limitations.

The ache began in her legs as a dull, insistent pressure, building slowly until each step required more effort than the last. Her breathing grew heavier, her pace slowing until continuing forward became more trouble than it was worth. It was only then that she stopped, standing still for a moment as the world seemed to settle around her, the silence of the affluent neighborhood pressing in from all sides.

She turned back without ceremony.

The return trip passed in much the same way as the first, though with a greater awareness of the strain in her body and the gnawing sensation in her stomach. But hunger had become a background presence, something she acknowledged without acting on.

By the time her house came into view, she felt drained in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion.

That, at least, had been the point.

If she could wear herself down enough, maybe sleep would come easily for once, unburdened by the slow, circling thoughts that had a habit of surfacing the moment she lay still for too long.

The porch steps creaked under her weight as she climbed them. She made it as far as the door before the last of her energy seemed to give out, her legs collapsing beneath her as she dropped onto the worn wood with a soft exhale.

For a moment, she remained upright, elbows resting on her knees as she leaned forward, her gaze unfocused. Then, with a quiet sigh, she let herself fall the rest of the way back, her shoulders and head settling against the wood as she stared up at the fading light above.

Tomorrow was Monday.

Another eight hours.

Another day spent navigating hallways that seemed to close in around her, tracking every movement, every word, and every glance in an effort to avoid drawing attention that would inevitably find her anyway. After all, there was no real question of whether the trio would corner her, only when.

Her lips twitched, the motion too slight to qualify as a smile and too intentional to be entirely unconscious. 

They had already destroyed her project, already ruined her clothes, and already found new ways to make her presence in that building feel like a mistake she could not undo. The list of possibilities was not as long as it might have been, though that offered little in the way of comfort. There was always something else to try, some variation of bullying that had yet to be explored.

Stuffing her into a locker, maybe.

The thought lingered with a detached sort of curiosity, as though she were considering it from a distance rather than anticipating it as a near certainty. It was almost absurd, in a way, how predictable it had all become.

She let out a breath, the sound barely audible as it slipped past her lips.

Enough.

The word did not come with any particular force behind it, yet it marked the point at which she forced herself to move again.

Her muscles protested as she shifted, drawing her legs beneath her in preparation to stand. The motion was slow, her balance unsteady as she pushed herself upright.

And then something sharp bit into her right arm.

The pain was sudden and localized, a brief, stinging sensation that drew a soft grunt from her before she fully registered what had happened. Her attention snapped to the source, her hand moving to grasp her forearm as she lifted it into view.

There was no immediate sign of injury. No blood, and no visible mark beyond a faint irritation of the skin where she had felt the sting.

For a fraction of a second, she was willing to dismiss it. Then she saw it.

Beneath the surface of her skin, something moved.

The motion was subtle at first, a shifting that might have been dismissed as a trick of the light if it had not continued, tracing a slow, unmistakable path along the length of her arm.

Her breath caught as panic surged through her, cutting cleanly through the lingering exhaustion that had weighed her down only moments before. Her heart lurched into a rapid beat as she stared at the movement beneath her skin, her thoughts struggling to keep pace with what she was seeing.

That was not possible.

The thing moved again, more distinctly this time, the outline of it pressing against the inside of her arm as it shifted upward, inching closer to her elbow.

Taylor did not think.

She reacted.

The front door slammed open as she shoved her way inside, her steps quick as she crossed the threshold and headed straight for the stairs. Her father’s voice reached her from somewhere deeper in the house, confused, but she did not answer. Her focus had narrowed to a single point, consumed entirely by the sensation crawling beneath her skin.

Up the stairs.

Down the hallway.

Into her room.

The door banged against the wall as she shoved it open, her breath coming faster now as she crossed the space in a handful of hurried steps. Her desk loomed in front of her, cluttered and disorganized in a way that would have frustrated her under normal circumstances, though now it presented itself as little more than a collection of potential tools.

She began to search.

Her movements were frantic, drawers pulled open and rifled through as she tried to find something—anything—that might help.

The thing inside her arm shifted higher again, closer to her shoulder, and a sharp, breathless sound escaped her as she slammed another drawer open, her fingers closing around the first object she could recognize as remotely useful.

A cord.

Thin, flexible, the familiar shape of a USB cable registering only distantly as she yanked it free.

It did not matter.

What mattered was that it could be tied.

Her hands shook as she looped it around her upper arm, pulling it tight with a force that bordered on desperation, the material biting into her skin as she worked to secure it in place. The motion was clumsy, hindered by the tremor in her fingers, though she managed to tighten it enough to serve its purpose.

Or so she hoped.

The pressure built quickly, cutting into her circulation in a way that sent a dull ache down the length of her arm, though she barely registered it over the racing pulse of her thoughts. She braced the cord with one hand and pulled with the other, then shifted to use her teeth when her grip became insufficient, tightening it further despite the growing resistance.

Her vision blurred at the edges, dark spots appearing as the pressure in her head built to an uncomfortable degree. The sensation of the thing moving beneath her skin grew distant, overshadowed by the sudden lightness that spread through her limbs.

She pulled again, harder this time.

The cord dug deeper into her skin, the tension increasing until it bordered on unbearable, and then the world slipped.

The last thing she was aware of was the floor rushing up to meet her.

Then there was nothing.