Archive of Our Own

Intern hates Barney.

Not because the skinwalker takes his coffee each shift, acts all friendly despite actively trying to use them for his deeds, and has an ugly mustache.

But because he inflicts on territory that isn't his.

A million different anomalies fake human traits and attempt to sneak in for an adrenaline rush and some food, but that was all. Their minds were too fuzzy to comprehend they aren't meant to be here; all they know is hunger, and that there is unsuspecting animals in that large, windowed building, with its lingering smell of other monsters and bleach—giving them the assumption no other anomalies have entered, and it was free game.

It wasn't; the smell was a lie. And if the hospital shoved a dead body to rot up front, ninety nine percent of skinwalkers will take it as a sign it is off limits—dry of all edible flesh.

Of course, offering this suggestion at a meeting would be met with slightly distasteful words.

Back to the point, skinwalkers with minds closer to feral animals don't have a conscious motive for entering the hospital, besides hunger.

Barney? He is fully conscious; his mind is made up of thoughts he correlated. And every action and crime committed is decided by his own volition. His own, disgusting mind.

He chose to enter this hospital and play as a kind soul that requests coffee. Adding friend after every sentence directed towards Secretary—his innuendos burning into Intern's fuzzy mind whenever he'd overheard them.

And today, an unnaturally sunny day turned into a dark, mournful night; rain still pounding against the windows as animals wandered in soaked, pathing their wet footprints behind them.

Today Barney threatened Secretary, and Intern—stuck on front desk after he had accidently given Surgeon antibiotics instead of medicine, nearly leading to the death of an animal; he is lucky Surgeon had caught it—had to bear witness to the entire interaction.

That carnivorous serial killer had walked in with a slow pace and a small up-to-no-good smile etched into his face; his eyes were half-lidded, while his hands were intertwined in front of his stomach, in that position that is meant to look 'polite'. And by that point, Intern knew he was planning something malicious.

Unfortunately, Barney had already placed an area in Secretary's mind that labeled him as good, and when Barney had asked those words that marked why his kindness existed in the first place; it was far too late to close the shutters, call Secret Agent to shoot him, or even throw a cup of coffee in some mock attempt of self-defense.

"I need somewhere to hide."

And he showed his anomaly features, black sclera and white irises, opposite of his usual eyes. Sharp teeth that were used to pierce the meat of his victims, and a pitch-black mouth that had distance eyes watching from inside, but Intern doubts Secretary saw it over his fear.

Barney held a knife in his hand and forced Secretary to allow him to hide under the table until he felt he could leave.

And that is where they stand.

A competent skinwalker sat in his area, using the people Intern deemed worthy enough to protect from serial killing anomalies like Barney.

And there was no way Barney didn't know what he was doing, Intern knew he was a skinwalker from the beginning; it was physically impossible for him not to know. Intelligent anomalies could practically smell the scent of another one of them.

Barney entirely believes Intern wouldn't do anything about it.

His ear flicked towards the entrance, and he was broken back to sentience. Suddenly, the coffee cup he had grabbed a minute ago to soothe his irrational urge to rip Barney's eyes out of his head was halfway gone and burning his paw pads.

Another entirely black figure—a common thing in this part of town, apparently—jogged in. It was male duck, a drake, with a orange beak and a sleek black coat that reflected the light in waves down his body. Intern believes he is a black scoter—a duck with a similar dark coat, but their peak wasn't that orange last he saw them.

He wore a bright blue office outfit with black cargo jeans and simole white gloves; it wasn't that creative of an outfit—he didn't even have a badge that declared him as an officer.

Intern decided to take the gun strapped to his belt, the panicked look on his face, and him timing his first arrival in the hospital directly after Barney asked to hide as a sign that he is a proper officer, and not a guy wearing a costume he bought to rob them—happened once, never again.

He had stern look on his face as he spoke, “Apologizes for my interruption. I’m Officer Duckman, and my fellow officers and I have been hunting down a wanted serial killer for weeks, and he was last seen entering this establishment.”

Intern couldn’t see Secretary’s face, but he could only assume the terror radiating off it.

"Well, he came in earlier! But—uh—he left after... After getting a cup of coffee." The sheep forced out through blatant lies, practically speaking through his teeth as his hands were tensed at his sides to prevent them from shaking.

Intern winced at the words; this'll is not the proper time to be good at lying, Secretary.

“You… Know who the dangerous serial killer is?” The duck asked.

“Well, uhm—”

Intern takes back his words.

“Why didn’t you call us?”

Secretary threw a hand to the back of his head and Intern could practically smell the fear radiating off him.

This is one of the times Intern wishes he never lost his ability of speech. If he could even muster some of the simplest words, every step forward in life would be like walking through a park while basking in the cheerful sun—peaceful.

But his vocal cords were destroyed after he turned to an anomaly; the only side effect that showed itself—besides the obvious.

"He threatened us! And we were scared that he'll come and kill us if we ratted him out. So... We didn't." Secretary lied through his teeth, unaware of the horrid glare that Barney was giving him from under the counter.

The rabbit was also unaware of the way Intern's claws slipped out from their slot in his paws, resisting the urge to pry his pure white claws into the throat of Barney.

"...Oh. That... Makes sense." The officer mumbled. "Well, if you see him again. Report it to us, even if it is after he leaves."

"We will! Don't worry."

Straight after, Officer Duckman left.

And Barney came right out of his little hiding place underneath the counter, taking back the place he stood before threatening Secretary. A smile etched onto his face as he announced his departure, not even leaving a coffee machine to make up for all that coffee he asked for yet never bought.

Fortunately, Barney hasn't shown his terrible mustache since.

Unfortunately, he has yet to be caught.

It has been about two weeks since that incident, and no new events have occured. No new anomalies that pose a threat to Interns territory, or any anomalies that can mimic animals perfectly. Makes his and everybody else's job easier.

He was on shift with Secret Agent today. And when he says that he means that he was working front desk, while Agent stood around and shot anomalies whenever they got too cocky; the shutters not always working as a method of telling them to fuck off.

Secret Agent often looked at him weirdly. But he never asked questions despite those derogatory glances.

Intern has taken a guess his nearly perfect form slipped on the cameras, and Secret Agent, often watching the cameras for him, must've caught it.

The question does float in his mind on why a bullet hasn't gone through his head yet, but Agent... Hm.

"I'm Sydney Black. I'm here to check in as a patient." A rabbit with dark eyes and sleek light pink coat of fur stated, slipping their papers across the bleach white counter with informed simplicity.

Intern studied them through squinted eyes, then adjusted his focus to swiftly taking their picture, printing their name onto a sticker to identify them as a patient, and prepared to stamp their paperwork.

He held the photograph up and searched for anomalies in the patient's details.

Black downturned eyes, slightly lidded, blinking every consecutive five seconds.

Drooping bunny ears that reached down to their chin, barely darker than the rest of their fur.

A upside down 'V' for a mouth.

They are an anomaly. Not because anything is wrong with their physical features, but a result of their mannerisms. This bunny waltzed up with practiced ease; the kind closer to a rehearsed routine for a competition. They blinked every five seconds—no human does that.

But if he rejects them, Secret Agent will question him, and the reasoning of "they are too good" wouldn't exactly work.

So, he needs to hope something appears on the cameras.

Intern gave a quick glance at the skinwalker, who showed no signs of impatience. Simply, absence.

Unsettling.

He held a finger up, instructing the thing to use their nonexistent patience and put their nonexistent impatience to the side for a moment, and he turned to where Agent sat.

The black cat's tail was in between the two bars holding up the back of the chair, swishing cheerfully as Agent spun his gun in his hands.

Intern stared for one, two, three, four, five seconds—enough time for the anomaly to blink—before he depicted that Agent hadn't caught anything noteworthy. Unfortunate. He'd need to let this skinwalker in his territory now and risk the safety of everyone inside of the hospital.

...He feels selfish about that. But... But this life he built despite being a skinwalker, despite everything he'd gone through since the incident; it was more important.

Life was supposed to be over if they caught you. The Animal Corporation discovered that skinwalkers, when they bite you, will turn you into one of them, so they'd all decided it meant that was the end of the line. One bite, no cure—gone.

Yet he was here.

Breathing. Blinking. Thinking. Doing.

He didn't understand it, and he didn't want to understand, because understanding meant being an experiment.

He is still sentient; he isn't an experiment.

Intern shook his head in disappointment, and handed the sticker to the, now, patient—waving briefly to them as they wandered to room one.

The TV, a far better television than Intern ever had, above the counter flashed green letters: Cure remaining patients: 8. Surgeon enjoys using it to tell everybody that the rooms on the first floor is filled.

...Intern is unsure of why they don't use the many other rooms on the many other floors. But from the sounds of it, neither does anybody else.

With that, Intern placed a construction paper sign on the counter:

"Please leave your name in the box and take a seat. You will be cared for momentarily."

Not many people enter after the rooms are filled, but Intern constantly hears Secretary's voice mumbling about the impatience of other animals, and how they'll ring the bell for hours if it means they'll eventually get their way.

Secret Agent sighed from behind him, promptly initiating Intern to turn around and face him.

"Think that might've been a skinwalker." The cat spun his chair around. "But these days, could'a meant anything. Might have a tumor on the brain." Agent shook his head as he stood from the chair; Intern's eyes following his path loosely as he approached the coffee machine, beginning the brewing process.

Intern personally believes that "these days" lead to more anomalies than people with brain tumors, but whatever floats Agent's boat.

"You should go back and help with the patients; keep a keen eye on the one jus' let in." Agent instructed while placing a cup underneath the machine.

Intern nodded.

That animal was a skinwalker.

Let's just say Intern ate good that day.

A day later and Secretary was back on shift, meaning he, Secret Agent, and Secretary stuck around the front desk most of their hours.

Secret Agent and Secretary were talking over a cup of coffee while Intern checked in the last patient until all rooms were filled; they weren't a skinwalker; their fidgeting was evidence of that.

He could really go for a coffee as well; his hunger was reverberating through his veins, clawing at his esophagus until it slipped its way in his stomach, causing it to ache.

They're low on coffee beans, though, and the entire hospital agreed on the rule; if you finish it, you pay for it. Which at that point, might as well get a drink from one of the expensive cafes the next block over.

"Intern," Secret Agent called out, holding his coffee out towards the direction Intern stood, "You want my coffee? Secretary put enough sweetener in it to make it taste like hot chocolate. Don' want it anymore."

That sounded... Horrible. Intern preferred his coffee to taste like it was picked right off the bush. Honestly, he'd eat straight coffee beans if nobody would look at him weirdly.

At the same time, he needs caffeine, badly.

So, to try and deny the idea that he entirely wants the coffee, he shrugged his shoulders and gestured for Secret Agent to walk over and hand it to him.

"Hope ya' don't got diabetes. Might kill ya'." Agent mumbled as he walked over and handed the sugary substance to Intern.

Secretary shook his head angrily, "Bloody hell, I didn't put that much sweetener in it."

Agent snickered, "Quit it, ya' Brit. Think you’re too used to your tea ta' handle any bitterness. Find it spicy?"

If Secretary was a cat, he would've hissed in frustration. Instead, his nose twitched and he shook his head.

"Don't call me a Brit."

Intern sighed and took a long sip from the coffee—horribly sweet, might he add—and closed his eyes in blissful ignorance of the usual conversation Agent and Secretary participate in whenever they are on shift together.

Suddenly, Secretary let out a harsh gasp, covering his mouth as a panicked look overtook his face.

"Eh, ya'... Ya' good there?" Agent asked, dragging his eyes towards the front counter at the same time as Intern, and probably reacting to the person standing there the same way as well.

"Long time no see?" The rabbit spoke with a toothy grin.

Agent hissed, stepped in front of Intern, pushed him behind him, then drew his gun at Barney, "Ya' living scoundrel! Take yer nasty hands and scurry on out'ta here!"

Barney laughed with his chest, ears twitching at every exhaled breath. "How threatening. A singular handgun." He unsheathed a knife from behind his back. "I think the taser the other security guard carries around would do more damage."

Intern held back a growl; his area was unbothered by aggresive serial killing skinwalkers for two weeks, and now he is back to sharing the space. Perhaps, he should give up hiding his identity and kill the guy.

Secretary was hyperventilating near the cameras, and by instinct, Intern ran back to try and calm him down.

That left Agent to fend off Barney.

"What ya' gonna do if I shot ya' here?" Agent asked.

"Come back and stab you."

It was only three seconds of silence diluting the blissful energy surrounding the front desk prior, then two gun shots broke that silence.

The laughter of a madman came next.

"Oh, aren't you a brave cat?" 

For whatever reason, Intern blacked out after those words. No scream could bring him back to sentience, and every shock of pain biting at his body was met with a stronger thumping in his heart; it burned.

He felt his jaw unhitched as the taste of iron seeped down his esophagus, alongside bits of a solid substance that tasted uncomfortably similar to meat.

When his consciousness was done being overtaken by his feral instincts, he was being held by warm, fluffy arms, with bandages wrapped around his hands and where his mouth is.

Sirens were evident outside, and multiple different people were talking. Unfortunately, they were entirely fuzzy to his mind; all replaced by static.

He was certain their words were important, but the warmth of whoever was grasping him was holding his body in blissful peace.

He'll just sleep for now.

Intern woke up lying in one of the hospital beds; his brain pounding against his skull as the florescent lights shined down on him. 

The question already sat in his mind: why is he still here? Why hadn't Secret Agent shot his brains out, why wasn't Animal Corporation called to take him in, and just why?

Maybe, the bed he laid in wasn't those uncomfortable white beds; he could be in some controlled stasis at the Animal Corporation's facility.

But the buzzing of those lights was too recognizable for a new environment, they had the same rhythm that we were stuck hearing day in and day out. So, he was still at the hospital.

Plus, the smell of bleach was pulsating in his noise; no other building reeked like that.

Something was wrapped around his mouth and arms, alongside a foreign object poked into his skin. Automatically, he slipped a hand over the area that hurt and realized there was an IV placed in his vein; he had looked over to the IV bag, searching for what was being pumped into him, just to make eye contact with sharp yellow eyes against black fur.

Secret Agent leaned against the wall, watching him closely. Eyes in a rested position as he watched Intern's confused movements. A slight furrow to his brows, as if studying him.

Intern stared back; he knew of Agent's endeavors with the Animal Corporation, and that slight furrow, followed by his eyes narrowing, wasn't something Intern was looking for in a man associated with a business seeking his demise.

The cat sighed and began to speak after his ears pinned down to his head, "Y'know, Intern, yer lucky I could pry ya' off that pyshco in time. Otherwise, everyone would'a known yer a skinwalker."

Intern felt his ears slam against his head in fear. And in the next second, he was sitting up in bed. Two hands pressed against his mouth, while tears began to build in his tear ducts, burning his inner eyes ferociously.

The cat winced at the reaction.

"Listen, I won't rat ya' out." He walked slowly over to Intern, as if not to frighten him. "The Corporation wants anomalies like ya' to figure how yer minds function, but I ain't for testin' nobody." He paused and put a reassuring hand on the bunny's shoulder. "I'll protect ya'."

Intern can smell thousands of risks with putting any trust in Agent; he is a scummy man, and Intern is aware of his misbehaviors. Outside and inside of the company.

But what other choice does he have? This job pays him, and, shit, does it pay good. If he scurried back to his apartment, hid until the money runs dry; Secret Agent would still know he is a skinwalker. The only benefit that would come with hiding is if Agent does betray him, rat him out to the Corporation; he would have time to pack and leave. Whilst if he remains here, the Corporation will be able to take him on the job.

Though, if he tries to run, wanted signs, news anchors, and newspapers alike with have his face plastered on them, waving the words "wanted" in his face no matter how many hours he traverses from this city.

Would hiding for the rest of his existence be better than dying to erotic experiments in a closed cell?

...He—

"...Are... Are ya' good? Ya' seem lost in yer head." Agent muttered and broke the decision in half; Intern's correlated thoughts walking away from him.

Agent's ears were halfway down, and often flicking towards any noise made outside of the room; his eyes were softer than ever before and looked far too sweet for the persona Intern is used to seeing.

Such a thought was heightened by Agent's hand remaining far away from where his gun was placed in his coat.

And he was injured?

A bandage was wrapped tightly around the cat's left shoulder, slight blood seeping through it, signifying a fresh wound.

Intern pointed to the wound with a raised brow.

Agent's ears popped straight up, then drooped fully down with a grunt, "Barney got a jab on my shoulder before ya' went for his face." He shook his head as he grabbed onto his shoulder. "Damn near blew his brains right out'ta his skull! Yet he ain't a give up type of bunny alright."

Intern shrugged his shoulders in response; he didn't know anything about Barney besides that he is a coffee addict. 

The door opened, and in walked a fluffy pink sheep, perfectly groomed fur and soft features that didn't insinuate his overly cocky personality.

He is kind of a sheep in wolves clothing, though.

"Goodness, you both took quite the beating." Secretary began, eyes falling on Intern. "I'm stunned you even won such a fight! I mean, Barney had a kitchen knife over you!"

Intern squinted at Secretary as a form of anger. Of course, Intern won, Barney might've had a knife, but he didn't have insanity, claws, or two rows of 15 sharp teeth spanning the entirety of his mouth to give him the high ground. 

Secretary wouldn't know that, though. And for his own sanity, he never should.

"Ay, give him the credit he deserves. Had a disadvantage on his side and still won. Ya' would'a died tryin'." Agent mocked with a smile that was nearly invisible against his fur.

Secretary sighed, "Who said I wasn't giving him credit? And I wouldn't have died! I am not that weak."

If Intern could, he would've laughed so hard his vocal cords would break again.

"One scuffed hair day, coffee machine broken? Ya' head would blow straight off." Agent crossed his arms and tilted his head, as if daring Secretary to try and deny it.

In response, Secretary rolled his eyes, then left the room while mumbling something along the lines of 'fuck off', and both Intern and Agent alike were left questioning why he had entered the room in the first place.

Secretary was probably just trying to check up on them, and Agent basically ran him off.

Speaking of Secretary, Intern can’t help but wonder how Secretary was ignorant of his live attack; he had beat up Barney right in front of the sheep, yet he seems unaware of the intricate details.

Perhaps Intern can attempt to ask?

So, he did; he pointed to the bandage covering his mouth.

Secret Agent raised an eyebrow, looking at him like he is crazy for a few seconds before giving a half-hearted guess on what the gesture meant, “Are ye' askin' why yer face is bandaged?"

Intern gave a stern look, then shook his head.

"Eh... I've neva' been exactly good at charades..." Agent muttered, "Ya... Yer asking how nobody saw yer teeth?"

Intern nodded happily.

“Ah—yeah. Secretary scrammed after Barney stabbed me and was long gone before ya’ got aggressive. Then I pried yer scrawny ass—” Intern let out a low growl “—off Barney before the others ran on in. Covered ya’ mouth too.”

This information… Changed some things.

Secret Agent actively prevented coworkers from knowing of his alternate ego by covering his mouth, then lied about how the unnatural bite marks formed, which had to be a roller coaster of struggle in its own.

What would be the point of going through all that effort, just to sell him out?

There is no point.

The next day marked a shift that Intern worked at the front desk alone.

Multiple people insisted he take a break from his job to rest and heal, but he wasn’t injured; those bandages were used to hide features that couldn’t hurt him when shown, not actual injuries.

And the only one with the executive decision was Dr. Harold, anyway.

News flash: He said Intern could continue to work. ‘Definitely’ unbiased to his already existent knowledge of Intern being a skin walker.

It’s always shocking that the deer was unbothered by another anomaly walking on his terrain, but Intern assumes not everybody was as territorial as him.

Agent’s injury wasn’t exactly severe, and as someone working for the corporation, was deemed too important to force a day off if he didn’t choose to take it. So, he was also here but was casually dragged back to the front desk by Intern whenever he tried to do any ‘dangerous’ or heavy labored work—enforced rule by Surgeon. If Intern could’ve chosen not to, he simply wouldn’t have.

An ambulance rushed patients in minutes prior, and no amount of convincing could get Intern dragged out of the role as secretary. And it seemed Agent had no motivation to fight Intern anymore, so they were placed sitting in the front desk, doing straight nothing.

It bored Intern’s mind half to death; he could benefit even with his injuries. But of course, it seemed that everyone else—besides Agent—disagreed.

If only Agent was capable of producing a conversation right now, then maybe Intern wouldn’t be on the brink of eating the patients so calmly sitting, waiting to be checked in. Why was the feline so untalkative today, anyway? Normally, he could talk someone’s ears off if he so desired, but he seemed so uninterested in doing so today.

Wait, speaking of Agent, Intern had heard the man stand up earlier, but had been so lost in his unproductive thoughts that he hadn’t even batted the slightest side eye towards the departure of the man; he better not have wandered off.

“Intern,” Agent spoke, catching Intern’s attention quickly as he slipped into the other office chair besides Intern; his golden eyes tracing over the bunnies shocked reaction, “Here.” He spoke softly, and handed over a cup of black coffee. No added creamer or sugars. “For your sanity.”

Intern smiled, eyes lighting up as he grabbed the mug with two hands, basking in the feeling of warmth against his palms. Then he slipped off the bandages holding his disformed mouth in place, revealing the canines that couldn’t fit properly in his mouth, and took a long sip—ears twitching consistently from the peace swallowing him.

Despite staring at a creature whose species wreaked havoc throughout the entire world, Agent had the softest smile one could ever muster.

“I’ll take that as a thank you.” He said, taking a sip from his own cup.

Silence followed quickly after; the kind that holds its own conversation and allows for the mind to wander with trust that the person close by wouldn’t do anything dangerous. That type of peace didn’t exist during any of the time Intern spent at the hospital; this was special.

An hour later, all patients that came in the ambulances were treated for, and the ones able to leave were discharged, whilst more serious cases were brought into temporary rooms within higher levels of the hospital.

The day was slow beyond that incident, and Intern found himself fidgeting with a polaroid he had taken of himself when he first was practicing holding a proper state on camera; he had struggled in hiding his canines for the longest time, and the day they were properly hidden in his mouth was the same day he recognized how horrendous his form was on camera.

Soulless black eyes, a smile that stretched from ear to ear, literally, and sharp teeth, so many unhidden sharp teeth.

It was horrible.

Under that polaroid, was a more recent one he took while bored at the hospital on another slow day.

In this photo, he held a proper form that would be designated as proper to any other outsider perspective; it was a perfect one-to-one replica of his face.

A specific scent only created by a skinwalker in the latest stages of the infection knocked all confidence in Intern’s mind to the ground.

He hadn’t let an anomaly in. Nothing was wrong with anybody he let in. Their pictures were perfect; their forms on the cameras held no inconsistencies; their actions were proper for an animal.

Unless Intern had let in one of the rare cases where a skinwalker would come in while far enough into the infection where their brains weren’t fully infected, causing them to go through all of the motions of an animal without being far enough into the infection to where other skinwalkers could sense the shift in their scent. An anomaly with such specific qualities and becoming fully infected while laying in a hospital bed is incredibly abnormal. But it happened now, and Intern needed to find something to prove that there was an anomaly before it was treated and went for someone’s throat.

But there wasn’t any proper way to go about it. He didn’t know who the anomaly was or any way to show proper proof, not when he was tricked by an uninteresting polaroid and lack of scent. What was he supposed to do? Walk around until the scent grew strong, then walk in and point aggressively until someone understood what he was trying to indicate. Or maybe he could try and force out a pathetic attempt at saying ‘anomaly’, then instantly get ratted out as an anomaly himself, because who knows if his voice sounds right by now.

The television above him dinged again, and he was reminded of where he stood. In front of multiple possible patients. He couldn’t throw himself off a cliff when it’ll scare off more than just his coworkers.

Goodness, he’s been on the edge lately. Perhaps he should grab himself a chocolate bar from the vending machine.

It is fortunate that he never grew to dislike the taste of chocolate despite his taste buds changing entirely from the infection, because he found the sweet taste of a slightly melted milk chocolate bar helpful for his sanity.

And despite not having any cash on him, he was still going to get his chocolate bar; he had found a way to open the vending machine without a key, and he holds no regrets towards the thousands of times he snatched up a snack or two. He could be eating an animal, but he actively chose not to. That has to gain him some form respect.

Well, he is technically stealing, and if he is trying to continue life as an ‘animal’ and not as an anomaly with a bullet through his head; he might need to stop stealing.

…

He doesn’t get paid enough to care.

…

Why is he even getting paid; he is an intern.

Dr. Harlow must really want him to stay.

Anyway, Intern needs to make use of the next thirty-ish minutes where nobody needs to be checked in to get his hands on that intruding anomaly he smelt. And he needs to be certain that either he is the one to heal them, or their mind doesn’t corrupt until after their body is at its full capacity. Definitely not so he could kill them inside of the room and eat them. No, he certainly was going to stalk over to where Secret Agent and Nurse were talking to request for Agent to blow an anomaly’s brains out.

Intern took a deep breath in, intaking the putrid smell of an anomaly into the pits of his trachea; it would’ve burned as it slipped down, but he had grown used to the smell over his time of being an anomaly.

The skinwalker was located in the northern wing—rooms one through five—which was both fortunate and unfortunate. Fortunate in the way that Intern was allowed to participate in healing patients without supervision, and unfortunate due to the glass windows placed on the doors, showing every inch of the room to outer forces.

Besides the closest corners to the door. If Intern could state he was healing the patient, then drag them whilst dead into a corner; he could have a lovely snack, and likely nobody would recognize the disappearance.

Likely, unfortunately, was an important word in that sentence. Intern was unsure if someone would take notice to it or not, which does beg the question of if Intern should accept fate and hand off the job to Secret Agent.

The feline does he is an anomaly, so perhaps with a bit of convincing, he could ask Agent to stay guard while he feasts.

Actually, when he thinks of a plan like that, another idea comes to mind. If he were to trigger the skinwalker to attack him, then he could simply have it killed, and drag it into a storage closet without being bothered.

Aren’t I just an amazing planner?

Despite his lovely idea, Intern still needed to know where this skinwalker is located, and standing here complimenting himself over the most basic plan in the book will not get him anywhere.

So, Intern followed the smell until it grew strong enough to nearly burn his nostrils; an obvious sign of an animal that recently turned into a skinwalker.

It trailed into room five. That one room with the safe so carefully hidden behind a poster. Now barren of all attributes originally inside, because of course Agent couldn’t keep his greedy hands off anything that could cause prying eyes to know of the misdemeanors being committed by the Corporation.

Intern often suspects that the Corporation is tied to the hospital, and not in the way of sending spies out to seek out information on what’s happening, but in the way of owning the hospital, and using the information they find for something greater. Something horrible.

The only thing holding these suspicions down is his lack of evidence.

And so long as Agent doesn’t slip in his actions or words, Intern will never grow any proper evidence.

So, he needs the feline to slip up.

But there is little to do on that topic currently.

Intern walked to room five with an open mind and an empty stomach. Then was interrupted by Nurse opening the door; her eyes slightly lidded from her prolonged shift today, and she seemed to be slightly out of it, since she jumped when she saw Intern. Couldn’t blame her. His pitch-black eyes against the bandages wrapped around his forearms and mouth unsettled many. But one would’ve assumed that she would grow used to the sight by now.

Nurse let out a shaky breath before giving a soft smile to Intern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so startled by you. Just…” She sighed, “I’ve been overly on the edge with this longer shift I took. I can’t wait to go home and take a lovely nap, and even better is I’ll be off after tomorrow.”

Intern smiled, though it wouldn’t be seen under the bandages, so he hopes his eyes showed his joy.

He liked Nurse a lot. She was incredibly kind, and easy to communicate with without needing words.

Enforces the need to part her from the anomaly sitting so crudely in the room behind her, awaiting treatment for a symptom their body doesn’t have. But it seems he might’ve arrived too late, that anomaly was one of the last two patients who needed treatment, and it was unlikely that he could convince Nurse to allow him to finish the treatment of the patients.

Maybe he needs to accept eating the anomaly after they get their brains knocked out of their skull by Agent.

Fine, he’ll grab Agent and warn them of the anomaly, then use his very proper convincing skills to convince Agent to let him drag the anomaly into the garbage.

“I know everybody, including me, forced you stay up front to not do any dirty work for the sake of your injuries, but could you give this patient herbs and maple syrup? The last patient I needed to treat looked to need stitches, and I would rather deal with that now. Just don’t tell anyone I had you work with a patient.” Nurse said, already walking to room three before Intern could give a gesture in agreement.

Well, so much for Nurse not letting him help her.

This makes it so much easier. He can just give them the wrong medicine to kill them and eat their body.

Intern hopped over to the shelf of herbs then to the shelf of maple syrup, but instead of grabbing the sugary syrup, he reached for the cough syrup; a wicked smile making way onto his face, and he was glad the bandages covered it.

When he walked into room five, the stench hit him instantly. It burned his nostrils and quickly caused a headache.

The patient was laying, staring mindlessly at the ceiling, completely unaware of their surroundings until Intern was beside the bed, tapping onto their arm. So, they were already showing signs of a skinwalker.

Their eyes were empty as they dragged over Intern’s features. Steadily processing that the person in front of them was a different person than before. And if Intern has proper memory, their features drooped more than they did when checked in.

He held up the cough syrup and pointed to it, then pointed to the anomaly, insinuating that he’ll give them the medicine.

They remained unresponsive.

Nurse must’ve been too tired to recognize the signs, which is certainly dangerous; it is a good thing her shift is over soon.

“Intern?”

Intern nearly jumped to the roof in abrupt fear but held himself in place for two seconds before he set the medicine down on the bed, slowly turning to see who entered the room.

“Who let you treat… Anomalies.” Agent tilted their head as they studied the patient laying blatantly still, then they landed their eyes on the medicine, then the screen, then the medicine again. “Killin’ them with the wrong treatment? Ya’ know that doesn’t always work? Often just speeds the process up.”

Intern nodded but continued what he was doing before by grabbing the cough syrup and pouring it onto the spoon provided.

As he moved the spoon towards the anomalies’ mouth, he realized that they were unresponsive to the unspoken command. So, he pulled down the bandages surrounding his mouth and opened his mouth, revealing his array of teeth.

The anomalies’ eyes widened as their pupils contracted, yet they didn’t open their mouth.

A low grumble that resonated deep inside of Intern’s throat, a harsh tug on the lower jaw of the anomalies’ head, and an almost unnoticeable choking noise from the patient below him later, and the cough syrup was in the body of the patient.

They laid motionless for a few seconds before they mumbled those unsettling words Intern had heard millions of times before.

“I’m hungry…”

Hunger. One of the first symptoms an anomaly experiences upon changing. That irresistible feeling that resonates within the deepest part of the mind, slowly taking over until it is the only thought that correlates with the body’s movement. Only few anomalies grow to satisfy that hunger; Intern was fortunate it be one of them.

Unfortunately, this patient wasn’t going to follow that path. Not when another anomaly and someone with a gun already cocked stood in the same enclosed room as them.

The bullet hit them before they even stood up.

“Head Nurse said to let Security deal with anomalies today. She should know by now I don’t listen to her.” Agent said. “I’ll grab a body bag, but it’s yer problem past that. Can’t carry shit.” They gestured towards their arm.

Intern shook his head, and when Agent didn’t catch it, he jogged over and grabbed onto the feline’s good arm.

Agent might’ve looked at them like they were planning to rip them apart for a moment, but when that look ceased, it slipped into one of curiosity, “What?”

Intern sighed, then pointed to the anomaly, then to their mouth, which they opened slightly.

“Really? You want to eat them?” Agent shook their head as they sighed. “’K, first off, close ya’ mouth. Your teeth are horrifying. Second, ya’ can eat them, but it is easier to hide that someone ate them if ya’ throw them in the garbage and record them as a dead anomaly. Easier on the records, and better for… Not being caught.”

Intern nodded in understanding.

He would’ve recommended he grabbed the body bag while Agent tells Nurse what happened, as the dog would check in on Intern. But then again, Nurse is exhausted enough to the point she’ll forget to even clock out properly for the night.

And Intern was left alone with a dead body that he wanted to tear apart piece by piece. Each limb off one by off as Intern bites away at the meat and bone like he had been starving all of his life, albeit eating proper meals daily for the mass majority of the month.

But Agent was right, throwing the body out first then eating it would benefit in it remaining a record in a hospital’s files instead of a police report.

So, he waited. Waited for Agent to return—Head Nurse also appearing by his side to help. Then he helped put the patient in the bag. Helped drag the patient into the dumpster in the back, then walked up front beside Head Nurse as they talked about information that went in one ear and out the other. All Intern could focus on was the fresh body he had just thrown away and now had to walk away from for the next few minutes until he was given his first break of his shift and could sneak out back to feast.

Head Nurse fortunately didn’t have a break, so she wouldn’t be paying enough attention to watch him depart.

“Yeah, he can be quite the prick, but in the end, he is a nice lad.” Secretary, the one with blue fur and long ears that droop down to his chin and looked like the cancer version of Ron; not the pink sheep, who was off for the day.

“He suckles up more coffee than you, and I didn’t even know that was possible!” Head Nurse complained, holding a cup of coffee in her hand. Nurse stood beside her, also slowly nursing on a slightly smaller cup of coffee; she was often leaning on her wife to prevent herself from collapsing to the floor from exhaustion, and the only reason she was still here is because she was coaxed into staying by Head Nurse since she wasn’t going to have a proper reaction time if an anomaly attacked her on the walk home.

Intern couldn’t blame her for the safety measure. Sometimes even he feels unsafe walking home at night. It’s dangerous for anyone.

Anyway, he had less than a minute until his break, and he is certain he could walk to the ‘break room’ without anyone questioning.

So, he did.

He walked proudly to the back exit of the hospital and approached the dumpster.

Just to meet with Secret Agent inspecting the body of the anomaly. A cigar sitting in his mouth as he ran his claws down their chest.

Why is this feline everywhere?

Now, Intern was tempted to growl at Agent like a wild animal protecting the bird it had just caught and killed, but watching Agent inspect the body like it’d answer the cure to the entire anomaly apocalypse was oddly enthralling.

The black cat took a deep breath of his cigar and instantly blew the smoke out onto the chest of the body below him; the wind, unfortunately, took that small bit of smoke in the direction of Intern.

Though, seemingly failing in finding whatever he was searching for, Secret Agent shook his head and began to stand.

Well, Intern felt like a fool wasting precious moments watching Agent search for bull and shit on a dead body instead of simply forcing him away from the fresh meat and tearing at the body directly in front of him.

Acting like he’d gain information on anything by watching Agent when all the information was being processed in Agent’s head. Not his actions.

Then Agent took out a camera from his pocket, and Intern was about to pronounce that God’s are real and that he is the chosen one, because he thinks of something he wants and it just happens.

But Agent simply took a picture with a polaroid, so Intern had to force himself to calm down; it wasn’t anything special.

Except an energetic caracal named Lizabeth had come in days prior talking enthusiastically about how UV cameras can show evidence of the stages of anomalies unseen by the eyes of others.

But the Corporation had fired her for using information like that on the paper. Why would Secret Agent, a member of the Corporation, be using a tactic that another person was fired for introducing to the public? They couldn’t be trying to hide such an important way of recognition from the public.

Right?

Intern shook his thoughts out of his head and focused on the task in hand.

Good thing, his little moment of being lost in his thoughts allowed Agent enough time to realize he was standing there.

“Intern…” The feline was about a foot away from the body now. His polaroid shoved safely back into the inner pocket of his coat, as a slightly worried look made its way onto his face. “How long have you been standin’ there for?”

A minute and thirty-eight seconds. Which is enough time to make an unrealistic number of assumptions about a random cat that is suspiciously good with a gun.

Obviously, he didn’t answer with that; he couldn’t albeit how much he wanted to be a smart Alec and do so.

He didn’t respond at all. No gestures. Not even the twitch of the nose.

Intern didn’t miss the way Agent’s hand naturally slipped towards the gun hidden beneath his coat.

“Are… Are ya’ hungry? Want me to back off?”

…

Intern nodded, and Agent complied; he backed off from the body but never removed his eyes from Intern’s figure as the rabbit approached, as if worried that Intern would pounce him.

Yet Agent stayed to watch him while he teared the body apart. He is unsure of if it was to make sure nobody caught Intern, or because he needed to finish his cigar, but the staring caught an unsettling tension in the air.

Agent could’ve blasted Intern’s head in by now, but he didn’t. Maybe he had misjudged the anxiousness seeping from Agent’s oddly tense movement.

Besides, it didn’t matter when the warm flesh sitting on his tongue brought a sense of comfort to his mind; his sanity was returning to him faster than any sip of coffee ever could.

“Unsettlin’…” Agent mumbled, likely taking another drag of his cigar since the air was once again filled with the earthy scent that stems from tobacco.

He ate until his stomach felt full, meaning he ate through most of their forearm and some of their vital organs, then he zipped up the body bag and threw it back into the garbage.

Agent was only halfway through his cigar and moved to be sitting next to the back door, staring up at the sky. There weren’t any stars, though. The light pollution was too prominent for any to really show on a cloudy night like this one.

He looked deep in thought.

Intern felt the urge to question him on what was on his mind, but it felt unlikely Agent would answer him.

He sat next to the feline anyway.

“That’s gross, y’know?” Was the strong opener for an unproductive conversation Agent threw at him. “Eating flesh straight from the source.”

Intern was aware. He was animal once.

But Agent would never be able to hear that sob story, and Intern would never live to the day where he could verbally tell it.

Agent sighed, “How could someone just do that for the rest of their life? I know I’d… I don’t know. I—I just couldn’t imagine it.” He took another drag. “Sounds horrible.”

Intern is aware.

“And you’re aware of the fact you’re eating another animal. Or at least, someone who once was an animal.” Another hit. “At least non-sentient anomalies get the mercy of not thinking about what their doin’.”

…

You grow used to it. No matter how little you want to.

Agent’s eyes dragged onto Intern, taking in the unnerving smile and empty eyes, likely drawing comparison to the look that dawned on the face of the anomaly that he’d killed.

Against the moonlight that slipped through the clouds, Agent’s irises were shining a perfect shade of gold that people during the California gold rush were seeking. Perhaps 24 carat and an everlasting shade of perfection. If that means anything.

“You’re bloodied. More than before. We should get that cleaned up before returning to everyone.” Agent muttered while he stood, dropped his cigar, and stepped on it. Intern soon mimicking his movements.

He should do that. Or… “We” as Agent wants to put it.