Opening the door to your bedroom after hearing a noise, you're surprised to find a little creature—black and vaguely both insectile and equine—looking up at you. Unsure what exactly is going on, but sensing it doesn't have your best interests in whatever passes for a heart in its body, you try to slam your door before it can get inside with you—you're only half successful.

Backing up, you look around for something to defend yourself with—which is why you don't notice it lunge and jump at you. You're not sure how it found you, or even what it was called. All you know is that there is a black thing that has huge fangs dug into your arm. The pain is extraordinary, and you can feel its long protruding teeth rubbing against the bones in your forearm. When the bite starts to grow hot and throb, you know the worst has actually started.

Exactly 10 seconds of panic blisters your mind. You try to shake your arm, but whatever it's doing has made the muscles weak. Falling back to sit on your bed, you grab it with your free hand and start to pull, only to have the poison of its bite reach your brain.

The pain and fear just stop. You look down at the black, bug-like horse thing, and you have to wonder what it's doing.

When the skin on your arm starts to dry up and crack like a lake bed devoid of moisture, you reach your free hand up and rub at it. Skin and flesh alike flake away to reveal black, hard chitin underneath.

It's almost like you're drunk, but instead of inhibitions being suppressed, its your fight-or-flight response. You can contemplate being scared because the poison soaking into your brain won't let you.

The creature lets go and sits up—looking at you with big blue eyes. They aren't blue like a human's eyes could be blue, they're vivid blue from edge to edge. It gives a curious little chirp, and you reach up to pet it.

No pain registers in your head as it sinks its fangs into your good arm. It pulls its mouth back and then bites you again. Your attention briefly flicks back to your first limb, and you see more skin and flesh has fallen away. The arm is now about half as long as it was, and where the creatures fangs had penetrated it was two large holes that went all the way through.

What would startle you, if you were capable of such an emotion in your drugged state, was that your fingers and hand were apparently part of the flesh that'd been lost. Your arm ends in a stump—a hard, hoof-like stump.

The change in your remaining arm causes the flesh on it to crack and break too. You reach your foreleg over and rub at your arm. A veritable cloud of your former flesh floats into the air before falling back down to reveal a black, hard exoskeleton.

Surrendering your second arm, the creature makes another chirping sound and jumps down to the floor. While you examine your changing arm, you feel its fangs penetrate your left leg.

The first bite it'd made on your changing arm had caused a big hole, while the second had left two smaller ones to form. It was odd, but not scary. Nothing was scary anymore—nothing could ever be scary.

When it changes legs, and spends some time biting your remaining limb several times, you finally take the time to slip your shirt off. It's not easy, and your remaining hand stiffens and breaks from your limb when you try to grip the shirt.

Eventually you get the garment off, and watch as the skin on your hips and belly start to dry and crack.

A chirp breaks your concentration, and you realize your little attacker is sitting up on your bed and looking at you.

"Hive."

"What?" Your voice sounds odd and your throat is dry. While you're watching the creature, you notice that the flesh of your legs is all badly cracked, and that of your groin has cracked and broken away to reveal smooth black carapace.

"Hive."

The word wasn't just a word now—it was a concept. You can't help but feel the concept grow and stretch in your head, shoving out worrisome things like your tax return you'd been worried about, the dinner you'd stopped eating to investigate the sound at your door, and how to speak.

Rewiring your brain is not fast, but it is a smooth procedure. You can feel human things slip away as the creature says more words right into your head.

"Hive needs love."

Of course the hive needs love. The hive always needs love. When the flesh in your throat finally cracks, you cough and splutter, turn your head, and burp out a rush of dust that used to be your digestive tract, lungs, and several other organs that don't apply to you anymore.

The cracking flesh reaches your neck, and you reach up with your forehooves to rub at it.

"Hive needs us to get love. Hive needs more to get love."

A smile creases your lips—you have a purpose now. You nod to the creature, and chirp your wings along your carapace. The sound is deeper than the one your hivemate makes, but it's just as right.

Hive pushes hard into your head. You can feel it like a huge, bloated entity that needs only space to grow. You can't contemplate of how to stop it, nor why you would want to.

Filled with the purpose of Hive, you stretch your body and roll to your hooves. Shaking your head sends up another cloud of dust as the last of your humanity is just gone.

Wiggling a finned tail that you hadn't realized you'd grown, you buzz your wings and then chirp.

"Hive, there is another like me in the next room." You don't know how you sent that message, but you're rewarded for it. Hive is pleased.

Author's Note

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