I always knew my body changing was natural with my age. But now I’m clinging to the banister, and the eyelids on the growths on my arm are just beginning to peel back. They glint green and brown and blue. And God, does it hurt.

The pain tunnels and digs, feeling like something inside me is trying to climb my nerves like a ladder.

***

The fluorescent lights above Alex’s bed flicker, humming with that sickly hospital buzz that they had tried their best to forget. Nurses rush past the glass window of the isolation room, their faces hidden behind thick masks and visors. Alex tries to shift, but the restraints tug at their wrists. “It’s for your safety,” the doctor had said earlier, voice trembling in a way that didn’t feel very doctor-like at all. “And ours.”

The growths twitch and a sharp, electric pain shoots up Alex’s arm, making them gasp. The eyelids peel back another millimetre, revealing more of that swirling, unnatural colour: green, brown, blue, like oil on water. Alex squeezes their eyes shut. They try to picture home. Their mum’s laugh. Their dad’s terrible cooking. The way they’d both promised to be right behind Alex when the ambulance took them.

But that was two days ago.

And no one has come.

A soft hiss fills the room as the door seal disengages. Alex’s eyes snap open. A figure steps inside, hooded, masked, but smaller than the doctors. Their movements are quick, nervous, like they’re not supposed to be here.

“Alex?” the stranger whispers.

Alex’s heart stutters. “Who are you?”

The stranger pulls back their hood.

Another teen, pale, exhausted, a growth peeking over their collar, right on their neck. It's eyelid is still closed. Good.

“My name’s Rowan,” they say. “I escaped from the quarantine wing. And you need to get out of here. Now.”

Alex stares. “Why?”

Rowan glances at the door, then back at Alex, voice dropping to a terrified whisper. “The doctors aren’t trying to cure us anymore.” Rowan swallows hard. “This place is a meat-grinder.”