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YIPPEE!! NEW CHAPTER! And a really hot af one too. I'm so glad that this story continues.

Wow what a story and Dr Matthew gained to be part of the Brotherhood. Thank you @Van2man

Amazing experience! One of my favorite feelings. It's like taking a hundred loads all at once. Enjoy!!

Chapter 7 is the finale of a great and sexy spin-off of another fantastic story. Weaving characters, places, and other details from two stories into one fantastic off-shoot takes skill and talent, and @Van2manaccomplishes it with flying colors. This final chapter closes the loop on Dr. Matthew's chasing journey as it started--getting bred by Keith. We learned from Keith's point of view some very interesting details--chiefly, he knew all along who Matthew was and wanted to be the one to poz the med student/young doctor. They say, "Sometimes, one must take a journey to know what is obvious." This is so true for Dr. Matthew. He took toxic loads from various men from different backgrounds, but his poz daddy was the first poz guy to fuck him years ago. Although, Matthew's hookups in his chase give us some sexy breedings, it's quite fitting and romantic to know that Keith not only becomes Matthew's pozzer, but also his boyfriend/life-partner. We learn that the pair continues pozzing chasers as they work providing health care to out and poz gay men. Kudos, @Van2man!

Here's mine

I haven't had a cumdump experience yet, but the cravings are there. Something about the need to be used by multiple men turns me on a lot.

So fuckin hot 🔥 🥵 ... more please!

Happy gloryhole cumdump with 2 strangers’ loads in my ass

What noone talks about is how very few escorts make a good living on rentmen, how it is still a top 1% thing. Here's a good video on how onlyfans is also a few make all the money. And don't know if real but I read that onlyfans' creator killed himself. [think before following links] https://youtu.be/Wnntb50FDUo?si=xhVEPjspAImDtRaN

Fantastic all the way through! Your stories are some of the best on here! Please grace us with some new sagas when the inspiration hits. There’s so much poz cum and so many needy neg holes out there!

Very well written

First part of many... Milan opens the door, and Mattius stands before him. Mattius says, “You are my submissive, my submissive must be naked and kneel before me.” There's no mistaking the intensity in Mattius' eyes and the urgent, needy tone of his voice. With Mattius holding the door open, Milan immediately removed his clothing. “Give that to me and get on your knees. Milan knelt down and Mattius now said,”Bow to me.”. Milan bowed, and slowly, hesitantly, Milan looks up, and says "You want me to..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. Mattius steps closer, "Yes," Mattius growls lowly, exposing his soft cock. "I want you to admire this cock and you will worship it like the pathetic little slave you are to be." "Please," Milan whispers shakily, pressing his face into the fabric of the bedsheets. "I... I don't know what to do." Mattius chuckles darkly and strokes Milan's hair reassuringly. "It's alright, bitch. You will learn to be a slave. You just need to follow my lead. Worship me with your mouth and tongue, show me how much you want this." Milan swallows hard and nods. He parts his lips tentatively as Mattius presses the head of his cock against them. At first, he flinches back, overwhelmed by the sudden heat and pressure on his most intimate area. But then, slowly, hesitantly, he starts to open his mouth, letting Mattius' soft shaft slide in with a shuddering gasp. Milan licks and suckles at Mattius' cock eagerly, his tongue swirling around the head as he tries to get used to the sensation of being oral for his master. Mattius is not getting hard though. Instead, Mattius grabs the back of Milan’s head and holds his head firmly. All Milan can feel is submission, desire pulsing through his veins like electricity. He moans into Mattius' cock and then it starts. Mattius releases his urine into Milan’s mouth, commanded to swallow. Milan instinctively obeys as he feels himself being used and degraded - dominated by someone who clearly sees him as little more than an object for their pleasure. But Milan doesn't mind. In fact, it excites him. He knows this is what he wants deeply - to be a submissive, touched, used, owned. And so he continues to drink from Mattius' cock, Mattius an expert is urinating slowly, allowing Milan to drink and swallow every drop. Mattius can tell that Milan is getting afraid - is this too much? But Mattius just reassures Milan, “This is just a start, you are going to be my urinal, keep drinking, slave,” Milan knows there will be no other choice but to take what Mattius wants, to degrade himself for this man who holds all the power. But for now, he can only pray that Mattius will soon finish, but Mattius stops for a minute, and tells Milan to be ready for how you will usually drink - and releases quickly, Milan gagging, spilling piss onto the ground before Mattius. Mattius slap’s Milan’s face and then he pisses all over Milan’s head and tells Milan, “Clean up your mess,” pushing Milan’s face to the floor. Just then two men come walking down the hallway, Mattius smiles at them and they walk on past, watching as Milan cleans the floor by licking up all the piss that has spilt onto the floor. Mattius than grabs Milan and drags him into the room, closes the door and over to the bed. “Show me your ass, slave Milan.” Milan shows Mattius his ass, and Mattius tells Milan, “No, show me your hole.” And Milan uses his hands to show Mattius’ his hole. Mattius’ cock, 23 cm, is solid and hard, and says to Milan, “My cock is already dripping toxic precum, you want my toxic load in your ass?” Milan doesn’t usually talk dirty like this, and it takes a few times for Mattius to get Milan to respond, but soon Milan admits he wants Mattius’ toxic load in his ass. Soon, Milan’s ass takes Mattius' cock, which goes in fast and hard, causing Milan to scream out in pain, but Mattius is ready, holding Milan down, and persists, with his cock breaking through and going deep, without any lube. Milan thinks his ass may be tearing, but the pleasure outweighs those thoughts. Milan’s head is bobbing up and down on the bedsheets like a rag doll as Mattius fucks him roughly. He can feel himself getting close already, but he doesn't want to cum without permission. Not yet. "Yes," Milan gasps out when Mattius pauses for a moment after thrusting into him hard several times. "More... please..." He needs this man's cock inside him. Mattius chuckles darkly. "Good boy," he purrs approvingly before slamming back into Milan with renewed force. The bed creaks under their combined weight as Mattius pounds into him ruthlessly, grunting and growling like a beast in heat. Milan moans helplessly as his body is rocked by the force of Mattius' thrusts. He can feel himself getting closer to orgasm but he bites back a moan, desperate not to cum wanting to revel in the fucking that he is receiving. After what feels like an eternity, but was about 45 minutes, Mattius finally stops thrusting and leans down over Milan with a predatory grin on his face. I’m going to breed you. You’ll want me to breed you forever, if you don’t make me stop right now, you will become an owned slave. Milan moans loudly as the intense pleasure overcomes him, his cock erupting like a geyser, and Mattius' cock shoots deep inside him at that very moment. Mattius feels total power, lightheaded and delirious with lust as his orgasm crashes over him wave after wave - a power enhanced by his toxic virus that will eventually infect Milan. When Milan finally comes down from his high, Mattius is still fucking into him with surprising gentleness, stroking his hair soothingly. "Good slave," Mattius praises when he pulls out of Milan's ass. "You did well." Now, slave you always clean the cock after you are fucked. Milan nods weakly in response, too exhausted and disoriented to argue. He turns around and takes Mattius’ cock into his mouth. He can taste his cum and finds the taste delicious. Mattius then tells Milan, “It is time for a little break. You don’t want to get worn out, because today you will give yourself entirely to me and learn how you behave with a man who will hold all the power over him. And so Milan lies there on the bedsheets, spent and panting from both exertion and emotion, and continuing to clean Mattius’s cock. His mind thinks this is wrong, but the lust is so strong. For now, he doesn't care. He’s with this beautiful man.. But he knows what comes next - more humiliation, more degradation, more of Mattius' twisted desires being forced upon him. And then, Mattius says, “Get ready…” and as the stream of piss goes into Milan’s mouth, he instinctively starts to swallow, and enjoying the feeling of the degradation. As Mattius finishes, he tells Milan, “Let your mind accept this fully. Don’t resist.” Milan will never turn back from this day. The transformation has begun.

I'm sure I seen this on xhamster

I to believe it’s not natural to pull out and shoot whether you are watching a feeder or breeder. I don’t need to see the cum. I know when he cums.

Most of us are fools when young. Hopefully, we mature, and realize that older can be fun. I’ll gladly spread my legs for an 18 or 19 year old. Fill me up!

Oops! Somehow, the above was supposed to go elsewhere, not here. If it can be deleted, please do so.

Couple of weeks ago I took 3 loads on my face in the mall bathroom then walked through the mall covered afterwards

Holy fuck! That is so hot. Love James using the other guy's fuck juices as lube. So horny.

This may not be the right place, but are there still any over the counter pills to use periodically for ED? I know there used to be Stamina RX, which I tried once, but I think that is no longer available. It definitely helped to keep me up longer. It also seemed to make my hole more sensitive and receptive.

I’m more than happy to spread my legs for an 18 or 19 year old dick. Fill me up! The young guys who rudely dismiss older men are fools. Hopefully, they will be old and alone, or see the light before then.

Chapter 32: Imposters and Alibis Clearview University Medical. Steighn wing, ER Waiting Room. 00:19 MST. 1-Nov-20XX. REDACTED location. Jack sat hunched in one of the molded plastic chairs in the emergency room waiting area, his injured foot stretched out stiffly in front of him, trying to keep pressure off the ankle that throbbed with every pulse of blood through it. The fluorescent lights overhead were painfully bright after the darkness he had spent crawling through, and the steady noise of the ER—phones ringing, muted conversations, distant overhead pages—felt overwhelming, like his senses hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that he was somewhere safe. Safe. At least… relatively. His head still felt thick and foggy, like he’d just woken up from a bad hangover that refused to fade. Every so often a wave of irritability rolled through him, sharp and unpleasant, followed by a strange heaviness in his limbs that made him feel sluggish and unsteady. The slime. Or whatever the hell that thing had spit on him. He could still remember the first moment it hit his face—warm, viscous, and wrong. The smell alone had nearly made him gag. Even after wiping it away, the effects had lingered. His thoughts had slowed, emotions blunted and distorted, until eventually the haze had begun to thin. Now that it was finally wearing off, the irritation was coming back with a vengeance. Jack rubbed a hand over his face, jaw tightening. Across the waiting room, a television mounted near the ceiling quietly played a local news broadcast. A reporter stood somewhere downtown, speaking in that carefully controlled tone anchors used when they didn’t want to admit how little they actually understood about what was happening. Words drifted through the room. “…multiple disturbances reported across the city tonight…” “…witnesses describing groups of men wearing what appeared to be black, venom-like suits…” “…police are investigating whether the incidents may be connected…” Jack stared at the floor tiles instead of the screen when the press conference showed a picture of him demanding anyone who saw him to call the police. If anyone in the room looked too closely at him right now, they might start making connections he couldn’t afford. He focused instead on breathing through the dull ache in his ankle. And trying not to think about what he had just escaped. But the memories kept clawing their way back anyway. He had woken up in that abandoned hospital wing disoriented and alone. The place looked like it had been closed for decades. The air smelled stale and damp, the walls streaked with old stains where paint had peeled away in curling strips. Broken office furniture had been shoved into corners and stacked haphazardly along the walls like someone had simply abandoned the place mid-cleanout. At first he thought he was alone. Then he heard them. Movement. Voices. Something heavy scraping across the floor somewhere deeper in the building. Jack’s stomach twisted at the memory. The Smilers. And the thing controlling them. He hadn’t waited to find out how close they were. The only idea that had come to him was the ceiling. The ward still had old drop panels, thin and brittle squares meant to hide wiring and plumbing. If he could reach them, maybe he could crawl somewhere the monsters couldn’t follow. So he started stacking furniture. Office chairs. Metal filing cabinets. Half-collapsed desks that screeched loudly as he dragged them into place. The pile swayed dangerously as it grew taller, but eventually it was high enough. Jack climbed. The ceiling panel cracked loudly when he forced it upward, dust and insulation raining down over his head as he shoved himself into the narrow crawlspace above. And the second he pulled himself fully up— The entire stack collapsed beneath him. Metal slammed into tile with a crash that echoed through the empty ward. Jack had frozen instantly, lying flat against the beams above the ceiling tiles, every muscle locked in place. Below him, something moved. Voices stirred. The sound of footsteps. He hadn’t dared breathe. And even if he wanted to climb back down, there was nothing left beneath him but wreckage. Forward was the only direction left. So he crawled. Slowly dragging himself along the narrow beams, careful not to put too much weight on the brittle tiles beneath him. Pipes scraped against his back, insulation clung to his clothes, and every movement made the ceiling creak softly under his weight. Time blurred. Minutes. Hours. He had no idea. Eventually the sounds beneath him changed. The echoing emptiness of the abandoned wing gave way to something else. Electric hum. Voices. A working part of the hospital. Jack found another ceiling panel and pushed it aside. The drop looked manageable. He lowered himself slowly— Then his grip slipped. He hit the ground hard and pain shot through his ankle as it twisted violently under his weight. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Stars exploded behind his eyes and a strangled cry tore out of him before he could stop it. But the adrenaline came rushing back just as quickly. Jack forced himself upright and staggered down the hallway, half-limping until he found a stairwell. The emergency exit door had opened without resistance, and surprisingly no alarms sounded. Cold air had hit him immediately. He stepped outside and realized he wasn’t just outside the building. He was on hospital grounds. Jack had limped across the campus in a crooked path until he found the glowing red sign for the emergency department. And now he was here. Alive. Probably safe. His stomach growled loudly enough that the woman sitting across from him glanced over with mild annoyance. Jack ignored her and leaned forward, rubbing his temples. God, he was hungry. Not just normal hunger either. It felt deeper than that, like his body had burned through everything it had left just trying to survive the last few hours. Like he hadn’t eaten for days. Across the waiting room, the vending machines hummed quietly. Jack stared at them for a moment. Food sounded like the best idea he’d had all night. Jack pushed himself up from the chair with a quiet hiss as his injured ankle protested immediately. The joint felt stiff and swollen now, each step sending a dull throb up his leg, but the hunger gnawing at his stomach was stronger than the pain. He limped across the waiting room toward the vending machines, one hand braced briefly against the wall for balance as the strange groggy heaviness still clung to the edges of his mind. The machines hummed quietly beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, rows of candy bars and chips stacked behind scratched plastic windows. Jack fished a few crumpled bills out of his pocket and shoved them into the slot of the snack machine. The mechanism whirred and clicked as he punched in a number, watching the spiral coil begin to turn. A bag of chips tipped forward. Then stopped halfway. Jack stared at it. The bag hung there stubbornly between two coils, tilted at an angle like it had simply decided it wasn’t coming out tonight. Like it was mocking him. For a moment he just blinked at it, the fog still clinging to his thoughts slowing the reaction. Then irritation surged back to the surface. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “I just want something to eat!” He slapped the front of the machine once. The bag didn’t move. Jack hit it again, harder this time. Still nothing. Behind him, a few of the people sitting in the waiting area glanced over with mild curiosity. Jack leaned closer to the glass, squinting at the stuck bag like it had personally insulted him. “Oh, no,” he said under his breath. “No. No, no, no.” He shoved his hand against the side of the machine and rattled it. The bag wobbled slightly. But it didn't fall. The irritation that had been simmering in his chest since the slime started wearing off flared instantly into something hotter. Jack slammed his fist against the front of the machine. The metal frame rattled loudly. Still the bag didn’t move. “Oh, come on! Quit being a stubborn bitch!” He kicked the side of the machine in frustration. Pain exploded up his injured ankle the moment his foot connected. Jack let out a strangled yell and hopped backward, grabbing the edge of the machine to keep from falling over. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” The shout echoed across the waiting room. Now everyone was staring. A woman holding an ice pack against her forehead scowled openly. An older man sitting with his arm in a sling shook his head with quiet disapproval. Jack barely noticed. He was too busy glaring at the machine like it had personally wronged him. His stomach growled again. The sound made him even angrier. “Stupid piece of shit machine—” He slammed his fist against the glass again. The machine rattled loudly, the snacks inside shifting slightly. Still nothing. Jack kicked the side of it again, immediately regretting it as pain shot up his ankle once more. “Goddammit! Just give me my food!” His voice rose louder than he meant it to. “Do you know how much money these things make?” he snapped at no one in particular. “You’d think they could at least give you what you pay for!” A couple sitting nearby exchanged an uncomfortable look. At the check-in desk, one of the nurses frowned and leaned toward a coworker. Jack jabbed a finger at the machine like it was personally responsible for everything wrong with the world. “I just want food,” he snapped, voice rising as frustration boiled over. “Is that too much to ask?” The nurse behind the desk sighed quietly and stood up. Across the room, a security guard had already started walking over. And just behind him, another nurse grabbed the sleeve of a passing doctor, leaning close enough to whisper something urgent. Both of them glanced toward the vending machines. Toward Jack. — Tex had been halfway down the corridor when the nurse caught his sleeve. He stopped automatically, turning as she leaned close and spoke in a low voice meant not to carry across the waiting room. “Sorry, Doctor Kade,” she said quickly, nodding toward the vending machines. “I know you're probably busy, but we’ve got a situation out here. That guy’s getting aggressive and security’s tied up with another patient. Think you could take a look?” Tex followed her line of sight. A man stood at the vending machine with one hand braced against the metal frame, breathing hard like he’d just finished a sprint. The machine itself rattled as he slammed a fist against the glass again, muttering curses loud enough for half the waiting room to hear. Tex started walking toward him automatically, already preparing the standard mental script for dealing with an irritated patient. Calm voice. De-escalation. Ask about symptoms, redirect the frustration. He could do that. Then the man shifted slightly. Tex saw his face. And stopped dead. Jack Blaine. For a split second, Tex’s brain simply refused to process it. Jack was supposed to be— Missing. Possibly dead. Most likely the Alpha. Instead he was standing in front of a vending machine in the ER waiting room, limping, disheveled, and looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Security reached the scene first. “Sir,” the guard said firmly, stepping between Jack and the machine, “I’m gonna need you to calm down.” Jack spun around, ready to argue. His eyes landed on Tex. Recognition hit instantly. “You— I remember you. You left me there, wouldn’t help me get out of the lab from those monsters! It’s your fault!” The words came out loud enough that several heads in the waiting room turned. Tex moved without thinking. He stepped forward quickly and grabbed Jack’s arm in a grip that looked professional but felt anything but gentle. “All right, sir,” Tex said loudly, cutting him off before he could continue. “Let’s get you somewhere private so we can take a look at that ankle. Sorry, everyone.” Jack blinked at him, stunned. Several people let out a sigh of relief, likely glad to not have to deal with Jack attacking a machine and breaking the quiet of the waiting room. Tex leaned in just enough that only Jack could hear the next words. “Shut. Your. Mouth. Or I will put you down in front of everyone here.” Jack froze. Security relaxed slightly, assuming the doctor had the situation under control. Tex didn’t give Jack time to react. He turned and started walking, guiding—no, dragging—Jack toward the hallway leading deeper into the ER. Jack stumbled after him, forced to keep moving as Tex maintained the iron grip on his arm. They passed through the swinging doors separating the waiting area from the treatment wing. The noise of the waiting room faded behind them. Tex pushed open the first empty exam room he found and shoved Jack inside. The door shut behind them with a quiet click. Jack turned toward him immediately, anger and disbelief colliding in his expression. “What the hell—” Tex reached behind his back. The gun appeared in his hand so fast Jack barely saw it happen. Tex pressed the barrel hard into Jack’s ribs. “Say one more word,” Tex said coldly, “and I will personally sedate you with something that’ll put you down until Tuesday. You already saw what I did to two of your lackeys, and I have plenty more where that came from.” Jack went completely still. Tex didn’t waste a second. He stepped in close and pressed the gun harder into Jack’s ribs beneath the drape of the lab coat. The metal was hidden from anyone outside the room, but the message behind it was unmistakable. Jack froze instantly. For a moment neither of them spoke. Tex studied him carefully. Up close, Jack looked like he had crawled out of a disaster zone. His clothes were smeared with grime and dust, streaked with dark stains Tex couldn’t immediately identify. His hair was matted with sweat and insulation fibers. The faint sour smell clinging to him suggested something worse than just a long night. Tex’s nose wrinkled slightly. Sewers. That was the only thing that made sense. The city was being attacked by things crawling out of the dark. Jack shows up looking like he’s been living underground. It fit too neatly. Tex’s voice came out low and controlled. “We all know you’re the Alpha. Have to admit, the act in the lab was rather good.” Jack blinked. “What?” “Don’t,” Tex snapped. He shoved Jack backward into the exam table, the metal frame rattling loudly. “Do not start that innocent act with me.” Jack’s eyes darted toward the gun pressing into his side. Tex leaned closer. “Do you have any idea how many people those things have turned tonight?” he said quietly. “How many of my friends I’ve watched get hauled through this hospital? Or worse, have sent chasing after me on your orders?” Jack swallowed hard. Tex didn’t stop. “And now the guy running the lab where this nightmare started just magically shows up in my ER looking like he just crawled out of a storm drain.” Tex’s expression hardened. “You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?” Jack shook his head weakly. “No—no, you’ve got this completely wrong—” Tex gave a humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sure I do,” he said. “You’re really selling the part, too. Limping around, screaming at vending machines, pretending you don’t know what’s going on.” He pressed the gun harder into Jack’s ribs. “But I’ve seen what those things can do, Jack. I’m not stupid. I know I turn my attention for even a second and you’ll slime me as well.” Jack stared at him, stunned. “So let’s skip the theater,” Tex continued. “Quit acting like you’re innocent.” Jack let out a shaky breath. “You think I’m controlling them?” he asked. “Yes.” The answer came instantly. Jack gave a short, disbelieving laugh, his motions sluggish. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Tex’s grip tightened slightly. “I barely made it out alive,” Jack said hoarsely. “I woke up trapped in that place with them. Those things were everywhere.” Tex’s expression didn’t budge. Jack ran a hand over his face, frustration creeping into his voice. “I climbed through the ceiling to get out,” he said. “Stacked furniture, broke through the tiles, crawled through the crawlspace until I found another wing.” He pointed weakly toward his ankle. “Fell through when the stack collapsed. Twisted my ankle on the way down.” Tex’s gaze flicked briefly to the injury, then back to Jack’s face. Jack gestured toward the hallway outside. “Then I limped across half the campus trying to get here.” Tex remained silent. Jack’s voice rose slightly. “You think I want anything to do with those things?” Tex tilted his head slightly. “Given that you’re the one who built the lab where this started? That they took you with them when they escaped containment? That you seem perfectly unharmed?” he said flatly. “Yeah. I do.” Jack stared at him for a long moment. Then something shifted in his expression. “You… you don’t actually know who it is, do you?” he said slowly. Tex didn’t answer. That was answer enough. Jack blinked. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “You really don’t. He said he’d make me pay. That everyone would blame me.” Tex’s jaw tightened. “If you know something,” he said evenly, “now would be the time.” Jack nodded quickly. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly urgent. “Yeah, I do.” He leaned forward slightly. “It’s not me. It’s him. He… he… he said—” The words slurred halfway out of his mouth. Jack blinked. His eyes suddenly lost focus. Tex frowned. “What?” Jack swayed on his feet. “Huh… I don’t… I don’t feel so good. I feel dizzy.” The adrenaline that had kept him upright all night finally gave out. His knees buckled. He collapsed forward onto the floor before Tex could react. The room fell quiet again. Tex stared down at him for a long second. “Really?!…You have got to be fucking kidding me.” — Clearview University Medical - Dumpf Tower, basement. 00:03 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Dr. Grant could not move. His body stood rigid in the middle of the old hospice room, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, fingers trembling faintly but never quite lifting. The Alpha held him there like a puppet with invisible strings, forcing him to watch the same moment repeat over and over again. Julian lay in the bed. The sheets were still drawn up to his chest, the same way the nurses had left them when they realized there was nothing left for them to do. The monitor beside the bed was silent now, its screen dark, but Grant could still hear the echo of that final flat tone ringing in the back of his mind. Julian’s eyes were open. Empty. Color had already begun draining from his skin, leaving him pale and still beneath the dim yellow glow of the bedside lamp. “You didn’t save me.” The voice came from Julian. But his lips didn’t move. Grant’s chest tightened painfully. “I tried,” he whispered hoarsely. “I did everything I could. You know I did.” Julian’s head turned slowly on the pillow. Dead eyes fixed on him. “You didn’t do enough.” Grant tried to step forward. His body refused to obey. “You let me die.” A tear slipped down Grant’s cheek. “You failed me.” The words struck harder this time. “You essentially built up my hope and killed me.” Grant squeezed his eyes shut— and they snapped open again instantly. The Alpha would not allow him even that mercy. Julian’s corpse continued staring at him, unblinking. “You were supposed to save me.” Grant’s shoulders trembled with silent sobs. For a long moment the only sound in the room was the uneven rhythm of his breathing. Then Grant’s head tilted slightly. The movement was subtle. Wrong. A faint smile began to form across his lips. “Awww…. So much guilt,” he murmured softly. The voice was Grant’s. But the tone was not. Grant felt the Alpha moving inside him like a second shadow, something cold pressing against the edges of his mind. The illusion around them flickered faintly, the walls of the hospice room distorting like reflections in water. Grant’s eyes shifted toward Julian again. “You’re not going to win,” he said quietly. The smile widened. “Oh, I don’t know,” the Alpha replied. He leaned closer, Grant’s body bending toward the bed as though speaking intimately to the corpse. “I think I already have.” The Alpha straightened slowly and turned toward the door, as if preparing to leave. Then he paused. Grant felt the presence settle deeper inside him, pressing firmly against the edges of his thoughts. “You know,” the Alpha said conversationally, “I think I’m done borrowing your mind.” Grant’s breath caught. The Alpha leaned closer to the mirror of the illusion, as if examining the borrowed face. “I’ll just be borrowing our body for a little bit,” he continued calmly. “It will work much better for what I have planned. I know just the thing I need to draw out our little anomaly.” The words echoed through Grant’s skull. The room shattered. The illusion collapsed like glass breaking apart in slow motion. The hospice room dissolved around them. Julian vanished. The bed, the lamp, the walls—everything faded into nothing. When reality returned, Grant found himself standing in a different place entirely, feeling himself pulling on his clothes. A cracked mirror hung over a rusted sink. The air smelled damp and stale. A neglected hospital bathroom in the basement. Grant stared at his reflection. His face looked pale. Eyes red from crying. The faintest traces of black veins receded under his labcoat as his teeth shrank and eyes cleared. He felt panicked, watching at how easily the signs of infection disappeared. But the expression shifting across it was now calm. Too calm. Grant lifted one hand slowly, flexing his fingers as if reacquainting himself with them. “Much better,” the Alpha murmured through his mouth. “This form of our body does have some perks.” Inside his own mind, Grant screamed. The Alpha felt it. He smiled at the mirror. “You really do make this so entertaining,” he said softly. Grant’s reflection stared back helplessly. The Alpha straightened Grant’s… no… their shoulders and studied the reflection carefully. Then he began to rehearse. Fear. He widened Grant’s eyes. Panic. He quickened the breathing. Desperation. He let Grant’s shoulders sag slightly, lips parting as though he had been running. The Alpha watched each version critically, adjusting tiny details until the performance felt convincing. Grant felt every movement. Every stolen breath. Finally, the Alpha nodded to himself. “Yes,” he murmured. “This will do nicely, I think.” Grant’s body turned away from the mirror and stepped out into the dim basement corridor. Grant’s memories unfolded easily now. Hallways. Stairwells. The route to the emergency department. He walked calmly through the hospital, humming softly as he went. Then he saw someone ahead in the hallway. A man in scrubs moving quickly. Trevor. Grant’s heart lurched violently inside his chest. The Alpha smiled. Perfect. Couldn’t have planned it better. The humming stopped. His expression shifted instantly into panic. He broke into a desperate run. “Trevor!” he shouted. “Help!” — Trevor Kade moved quickly down the corridor, one hand still holding the small insulated case against his side as he scanned the hallway ahead. The hospital had that strange late-night stillness that only came after midnight—when the ER never truly slowed down, but the rest of the building seemed to hold its breath between emergencies. His mind was racing, attention split. Half on the doses he had just retrieved. And half on the fact that Toby was currently impersonating him while General Krell prowled around the hospital asking questions. Trevor exhaled slowly, trying to organize the next steps in his head. They had proof now. The drug worked. They had more doses. A weapon against those infected. Mason Hawke’s eyes had changed. His skin had begun to normalize. It wasn’t a full reversal yet, but it was enough to interrupt the infection’s progression. If they could stabilize Toby and Elias’s commander the same way— “Trevor! Help!” The voice echoed sharply down the hallway. Trevor turned instinctively. A man was running toward him from the far end of the corridor. His tattered lab coat flapped behind him as he ran, breath ragged, face pale and drawn with fear. Trevor blinked in disbelief. “Dr. Grant?” Grant stumbled the last few steps toward him and grabbed the edge of the wall as if he needed it to stay upright. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, one hand clutching the front of his coat. “Trevor—thank god,” he gasped. “I thought I wasn’t going to find anyone.” Trevor stared at him. Clark Grant wasn’t supposed to be here. The last he had heard from Toby, Grant had disappeared earlier that evening. Carried off by those things. “How did you—” Trevor began. Grant shook his head quickly, cutting him off. “No time,” he said breathlessly. “I barely got away.” Trevor frowned slightly. “Away from what?” Grant leaned closer, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might overhear them. “Follow me and I can explain everything,” he said. “What happened at the lab, the virus, all of it. The thing controlling them—” Trevor felt his pulse spike. Something was off. Since when did Clark Grant ever refer to him by his first name? Trevor frowned as his mind rushed to put the pieces together. Grant swallowed hard. “It’s what I was trying to tell you earlier,” he continued quickly. “In the text message.” Trevor went still. The hallway suddenly felt much quieter. He stared at Grant. “…The what?” Grant blinked. “The text message,” he repeated, voice tight with urgency. “I sent you—” Trevor’s eyes hardened. “You didn’t send me a text.” Grant froze. For a brief moment the panic on his face seemed to falter. Trevor’s voice dropped, cold and controlled. “You sent me an email. The real Clark Grant would know that. And he never called me by my first name. Just who the fuck are you?” Silence stretched between them. Grant’s expression slowly shifted. The fear drained from his eyes. His posture straightened slightly. Then he sighed. “…I should have known,” he murmured. Trevor took a step back. “Who are you, really?” he asked quietly. Grant tilted his head slightly. “He always was meticulous about details,” he said calmly. “Of course he would intentionally misremember things like that just to throw another wrench into the fray.” Trevor’s stomach dropped. The thing wearing Grant’s face stepped closer. “Fortunately, it won’t do anything to my perfect plan. Unfortunately for you,” it continued mildly, “he’s not the one driving right now.” Trevor reacted instantly, stepping back another pace. But the Alpha moved faster. A thick strand of black, viscous slime shot from Grant’s mouth before Trevor could fully react. It splattered across his face. The smell hit him first—sharp and metallic and wrong. Trevor gagged instinctively. The world tilted violently. His muscles suddenly refused to respond. “What—” His knees buckled. The last thing Trevor saw before the floor rushed up to meet him was the calm, almost amused expression on Dr. Grant’s face. Then everything went dark. The Alpha looked down at the unconscious doctor at his feet. For a moment, he simply studied him. Then he crouched and lifted Trevor easily, draping him over his shoulder like dead weight before grabbing the case that had fallen to the ground. “Well,” he murmured thoughtfully, adjusting his grip. “This one should do nicely. Time to call the cavalry back in.” He started walking again, humming softly to himself as he headed back toward the older wing of the hospital. “Let’s see how that stubborn little anomaly and your brother react to this.” END OF THE THIRD ACT.

It's a real accomplishment to make a story this hot and filthy and sweet and touching all at the same time. Thanks!