It would be so easy. Whatever was pumping through my body would make the action feel like nothing more than breaking a dead twig in half. I could already hear the sharp snap in my ears in anticipation. But that wasn't what I wanted. You're right, it's what you need. Maybe it was what I needed.

"What do you think, Doc?" I tightened my grip on his neck, holding him midair with one arm, pressed against the one-way mirror."Do I need this?" The man's face was flushed a deep red that was changing shades as he struggled to loosen my grip, struggled for breath, his hands failing to pry mine open. It was a tightened vice. I could taste the fear in his protruding, bloodshot eyes. What the fuck was wrong with me? What was I doing? What has to be done. You have to get the fuck out of here.

The room being drowned in the blare of alarms wasn't helping matters. I could barely focus on a thought, let alone the current unfolding situation. I could feel all of my anger, all of my resentment, all of my hate pulsing through my veins. Fueling some obscene hidden strength I've never felt before. You've always had it. You just needed a little help. A little push. I found myself shocked at just how elastic and contorted the human face could become when someone had their air supply cut off. He once had such a young, vibrant disposition.

I noticed a pen jammed in the man's shoulder, blood staining his white jacket around the entry point. Did I do that? He had that coming. The doctor's eyes began watering, tears streaming down his cheeks and pooling under his chin where it would then drip on my forearm. Boohoo. I wanted to end him right that moment. Do it. No. This was all wrong. I wasn't myself. A killer? This wasn't me. Bullshit. And if you don't hurry you're going to have to do a whole hell of a lot more killing than one miserable lowlife bitch. The alarms. Security.

I slammed my right fist into the mirror, its surface webbed from the impact. "If anyone steps foot in this goddamn room, so help me God, the good doctor dies!" He's going to die anyways. There was no sign of a response. "Do you understand me?" Still nothing, but I knew they were there. Listening and watching everything taking place.

Then I caught my shattered reflection in the broken mirror. The sweat beading my face, my neck muscles tense, veins popping. There was something wrong with my hair, it looked so thin and my scalp so exposed. That's just the florescent lighting. That shit adds ten years to your hairline. My eyes were just as bulgy and bloodshot as the doctor's. There was foam and spit building in the corners of my mouth. What was going on? I looked like a rabid animal. The doctor is the only rabid animal in the room. And rabid animals need to be put down. I needed to put the doctor down. For good. But that's not what I had to do. There's always options. Why did I want him dead so badly? For fuck's sake.

There was a growing sense of being pushed backwards internally, as though my consciousness was shifting. Not gradually shifting, but being forced. I fought against it. I instinctively knew something was wrong. I wasn't in complete control. Don't be silly, I have everything under control. I closed my eyes, attempting to block my own imagine from my mind, but it was imprinted.

"No, no, no." I managed to get out through clenched teeth. "What the fuck is going on?" I felt my death-grip give some. The doctor, still suspended, gasped for air. Sucked in as much as he could. I felt the sudden urge to choke it out again, but resisted. I suppose we can play with our new toy for a little while. No one else seems to be joining the party yet.

"Mr. Wil... Will..." The doctor apparently found the moment as an opportunity to attempt a conversation between painful draws of air. "Mr. Williamson, you... You're having an adverse effect to..." Fuck this prick. "You need to remember and take control..." I've heard enough. My fingers tightened again and I forgot all about the monstrosity I had just seen in the mirror. Then they loosened for a split second as I tried getting my body to obey my commands. To let the man go, I wasn't a killer. Whatever was going on we could talk it out.

Uh oh, asshole senses tingling. I became aware of the doctor rummaging through one of his lab coat pockets. I immediately took hold of his wrist and withdrew his hand from it, a needle gripped tightly.

In a fit of rage I slammed his arm into the mirror, chunks falling out of the already broken sections. Then again. "Doesn't seem it's your lucky day, Doc," I taunted and then remembered snippets from an earlier conversation we had together. "Must have been a bad batch." Then a third time, certain I felt his wrist crunch.

Despite the sirens echoing in the room, I could hear the needle hitting the tiled floor. Somehow my ears could pick up the tiny chiming sound made as it bounced end to end before finally settling, rolling back and forth momentarily. I pulled the doctor forward and repeated the slamming motion. This time the entire mirror spiraled a web originating from behind the throttled body. The good doctor needs to be put down.

Just like that, I felt pushed to the sidelines again, watching instead of directly participating in the actions I could clearly see I was taking. I imagined it was akin to an out-of-body experience. Pure, raw energy emanated from me, creating an aura invisible to the human eye, but I could feel it. And it encompassed an unnatural desire and need for carnage and destruction.

Even though I was in control, I wasn't, and I could do nothing but revel in the release of a dark, primal hunger.

Thanks for reading! What did you think of the piece? Constructive criticism welcomed!