Dog Blood

crowded room, surrounded by them but not yet killing, forcing myself to swallow down the fear and hold the Hate. I look into their faces, their stupid, evil, ignorant faces, and none of them knows who or what I am. They need their DNA tests and records and the strength of our reactions to be able to see what we are. But we, on the other hand, simply sense them. We know what they are without a word being spoken…
    Fuck. The penny drops.
    The enormity of today suddenly hits me like a hammer blow. Does Mallon even realize what he’s done?
    Today I resisted the temptation to kill. Regardless of the reasons why, I stayed in control and didn’t fight. And if I truly can hold the Hate, then in time I could do exactly what I’ve just been imagining. I could walk among the Unchanged undetected. Imagine the power and advantage that would give me… I could stand shoulder to shoulder with the enemy unseen. I could go anywhere, do anything, kill anyone…
    But can I do it? Can I really chose to hold the Hate at will? Or did Mallon just catch me at my weakest ebb?
    I think back to that moment earlier today when I could have killed him but didn’t. I wanted to do it, but I stopped myself. And it wasn’t Mallon’s words that stopped me… I stopped myself. I could do it again, I know I could.
    It doesn’t matter what I believe, whether or not I subscribe to Mallon’s bullshit theories of breaking the cycle and not fighting fire with fire; the fact is he’s handed control back to me, and I have to take advantage of it.

25
    FOOD,” MALLON ANNOUNCES AS he barges into the room, waking me up. It’s late, and he’s carrying his lamp. The familiar urge to kill fills me as soon as I see his face, but I force myself not to attack. I swallow it down like unspewed vomit, the nauseous unease sitting heavy in my gut. I get up and stand opposite him, and although he tries to hide it, I can see the nervousness in his eyes. The longer we remain facing each other, the more confident he slowly begins to become. But I can still feel his fear. I can almost taste it.
    “You, my man,” he says as I take the tray from him and sit back down on the bed and start to eat, “have done incredibly well.”
    “Thanks,” I mumble, my mouth full. Truth is, I don’t give a shit what he thinks. I’m just relieved, excited almost, that I managed not to attack. It’s hard, almost too hard, but I force myself to keep control. I try to concentrate on the food to distract myself, but the urge to kill him refuses to fade. I struggle to keep it in check, almost dropping the tray and lunging at him when he moves. I manage to regain my focus at the last second. This is almost impossible. It’s a constant fight, almost like I’m having to remember to breathe.
    “I’m really pleased,” Mallon continues, even the sound of his voice making my guts twist with agitation. “You’ve really understood what we’re trying to do here. You know, most people take a few more days to get to this stage, but you, you’ve got brains. You’ve worked it out in no time.”
    “Not a lot to work out really, is there?” I say, trying to keep up the illusion. “It’s like you said, the more you fight, the less you get.”
    “Exactly.”
    He watches me a while longer as I polish off the rest of the tasteless food. I glance up and see he’s looking at me like a proud parent, and it dawns on me that he really does believe all the bullshit he’s been spinning. I feel vastly superior to this idiot. He thinks he’s the one in the driver’s seat, but I’m in control. The mental advantage I have now makes it easier to cope.
    “So what next?” I ask, feeling calmer and more assured. I decide to hedge my bets and see how far I can push him.
    “What do you mean?”
    “What’s your plan? Do you just want to keep me locked up here forever? Is this some kind of rehabilitation program you’ve started? Or are you going to start experimenting on me and cutting me up into little pieces?”
    Smug bastard starts laughing.
    “You’re good! No, to tell you the truth, Danny, what happens next isn’t up to me.”
    “So who decides?”
    “Two people.”
    “Who?”
    “You, for one.”
    “And…?”
    “And Sahota.”
    “Sahota? Who the hell’s Sahota?”
    “You’ll find out tomorrow.”
    He starts moving toward the door. Suddenly this is a conversation he doesn’t want to have.
    “You can’t just walk out now. Who is Sahota?”
    I stand up again and move toward