One
Seventeen hours ago, humans were able to aquire a second genetic code. This new code resides in the blood, allowing the human body to heal at incredible speeds. This process of interfusion, however, is not without its setbacks.
Alistair rose with a start, his hand immediately reaching and grasping the back of his head. He had definitely smacked the base of his skull on the floor, knocking him out cold. The caked, dried blood made him sure of that. It peeled and cracked beneath his fingers, the dust falling to the floor with gentle clinks. There was no pain, no gash, not even a bump where he'd landed. He pulled off a large chunk, putting it before him to further take a look.
The shard of blood, almost crystalline in nature, was the deepest shade of black. Little specks, reflective and gem-like, dotted the area like tiny stars. Alistair scrambled to stand and hurried over to his desk, the patter of bare feet echoing through the dimly lit room. Hands shaking and breath just as such, he placed the blood underneath his microscope.
Fire burned in his chest. His heart was full of fear and pride over what he'd accomplished, and he had not yet known what he'd even done. But he'd done something, and in the world he'd begun to live in, something was everything.
After a deep breath, he put his sights through the eyepiece, adjusting the knobs for a clearer view. His eyes flared and his breath caught, his hands tightening on the large piece of equipment before him. His body trembled and his teeth gritted together.
"It cannot be so," he muttered, his tongue wetting his dry, cracked lips. "It simply can't be."
Upon further inspection, he concluded that his blood had formed diamonds. A thin, hardened sheet of crystalline blood had formed from him. Racing to find a pen, he took note after note, scrawling in his doctor's handwriting. Hours seemed like minutes, and the night grew older. More tests were required. More experiments must be conducted.
Just how fast is the healing process, he thought, his eyes darting around to find anything he could injure himself with. He found nothing but his professor's old fountain pen, one he'd been given upon completing his thesis. With haste, he grabbed it and held it tight in his hand. He lay his opposite hand upon the desk, aiming for the soft spot between the thumb and index finger. Without a moment's hesitation, he lifted the pen and slammed it down. The flesh gave, the nib of the pen ripping and slicing all the way to the desk, where it stuck into the maple top. He let out a hiss, which melted into a bitter scream. Blood pooled around the pen, his hand beginning to drip with black. For a moment, he had forgotten his blood's newfound color, and panic shook his core. He tore the pen out of the thick layers of tissue and inspected it, finding the pen unscathed, save for a slight bend at the very tip.
Alistair set the pen aside, relieved, and closely examined his hand - the hole had already begun to shrink! He held it up to his desk light, watching the wound squirm and close ever so slowly. Tendrils bound the hole together, pulling the sides towards each other as the cells reproduced. Within minutes, not even a scab remained.
Tears made traces of riverbeds along his cheeks. He had done it. He had given humanity a second chance at surviving the ever-changing, wicked world they lived in. He did not hide or hold back his elation, letting out a low, gravely cheer. His fists found their way to the sky, and joy found his heart for the first time in a decade. He let out a deep sigh, deciding he could rest for tonight. Tomorrow would be nothing but study.
He made his way to his bathroom, which wasn't far. His apartment was compact, quiet, and simple. The floors were oak, the walls a dim alabaster, the ceilings low. One room and one bathroom were the entirety of the floor plan, save for a small kitchen flushed against the east wall.
The bright smile across his face never faded, only danced its way back onto his lips between lines of song. He turned the shower to hot, allowing himself to splurge and raise his electrical bill just a tad. He peeled his bloodstained shirt from his back and tossed it aside, the inky blood stiffening the fabric. His pants found themselves in a heap on the opposite side of the room, his boxers draped over the side of the vanity. Without a care in the world, he stepped inside, purring in delight before continuing his melody. The water trickled down his rough edges, his thin frame swallowed by steam. He tilted his head back, allowing the water to wet his hair.
Thick, black shards fell from his head, crashing to the floor and shattering like glass. They cut small gashes into his ankles and calves, lacerating deeper than any normal glass could. The first crash startled Alistair, but the rest were just rhythm to his tune. His scratches healed instantaneously, just in time for more to arrive.
With clean body and mind, he dried himself off and sauntered into his room, collapsing on his bed. He was asleep within moments. Dreams of a new life surged in his slumber.
Morning came with chirping birds and bustling streets. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, and the man shifted in discomfort. He roused, sitting up before putting his hand up to block out the glaring sun.
It was then he saw that the skin of his palm began to smoke.
