Your non-existent heart contorts and seems to be crushed by something. Everything around turned into a mix of colors, every sound a sickly soup of garbled noises except one.
"Incapacitating drug worked. Target currently disoriented. Moving in to contain." A voice above said.
"Permission granted." Another voice. Much deeper and masked with static.
Whatever these people are, they seem to be trying to catch you. The man you once tried to posses reaches down to touch. Most expectations dictate this his hands would just pass through you since you are liquid. In this case, it's not. His hands is sparking and some strange energy allowed your parts that he touched turn tangible. It was unnerving and you struggled to let go. You form an appendage and tried to punch the man. He did not see that coming and it striked him in the eyes. With a momentary disorientation, his hold of you loosened. The opportunity is possible in the smallest window of time. You hit him again and you find yourself launched free from his grasp.
In the wide perspective, you could see him both fall off the ground and the trees you swiftly try to swerve as you escape. He was dazed but nor for long. As he grew smaller over the horizon, he rushes to the direction you ran off too and all the while, he was talking over the walk talky strapped on his chest. Aside from the wide perspective this goo gave you, you could also sense the slightest vibration in the air and as so, you could faintly hear what he and that walk talky is saying.
"Subject turned aggressive and ran away, sir?."
"The subject gives off a specific radiation. Turn on your tracker D-124." The man turned something on his wrists and dashed to where you are running from. He was more accurate now and far more determined. The run, more like slither, was exhausting yet you kept going. The distance between you shortened. In the distance, you could hear the ground rattle. The asphalt of the highway was mere distance from you. You kept slithering and once in the middle of the road, you waited for the right opportunity.
The man raised something from his hips and pointed at you. A weapon, although not something you recognize. In the distance, a red four seater is coming nearer. All you need is a whole ten seconds and you are free from your pursuer. The man pulled the trigger and a line of electricity surged. With luck, it missed. It barely scratched your left but its near presence alone turned your surface tangible. Another pull of the trigger and another swerve to the left. The electricity hit the asphalt and left a smoldering patch. One hit from that thing and you're toast.
The car whizzes above you. Your tentacles latched on. Your pursuer cursed and reached for his contact.
"Target found transport. Red Ford Focus. Californian Plate and going for the I-5. Further instructions requested."
The voice from the other end did not talk for a few seconds. "Engage code yellow."
The ride was hot, windy and dry. Inch by inch, you slither your way inside the car. A guy was alone inside. From the looks of it, he's in his early 20s and probably lean in shape. His hair was ash and beneath those eyelids, a hazel eye shows the lack of focus in the road.
The heat from the outside has decreased your mass by half. And whatever that pursuer did to you, it left bits of you to crystallize and hinder your ability to crawl as fast. You needed to recuperate fast. A barrel of water or something might help.
You look around. It seems that you are in the interstate 5 and pretty much far from your home. From the movies you watched, going back home isn't the sharpest idea right now. Whoever these people are, it's a matter of time before they fund out who you are. So for the least, you should hitch this ride and transfer vehicles.
Above you, the person driving is unaware of your presence. Or the way you are nearing him and latching a tentacle near his face. A second was all it took before you completely engulf his face. He was trashing but kept his hands steady on the steering wheel. Mere moments later, the last bits of you are slithering down the man's throat. The fight for the mind was as easy as the fight outside. He was taken unawares and he did not have the time to strengthen his will. He gave in as soon as you entered.
You blink momentarily and saw the world swirl into black and brown. The road stretched long and the dessert widened on both sides. You adjusted the rear mirror and inspected your face better. Rugged at first sight. His chin is unshaved and has a small scar running from the bottom. Your eyes are hollow hazel and deep with bags. This guy has probably seen better days.
You revved up the speed of the car, careful not to reach the speed limit. A minute later and you topped at a diner at the side of the road. The parking lot seemed stocked with cars, mostly civilian vehicles. It's the start of the summer and most people are going to Vegas. Inside the diner, the smell of pancakes and bacon welcomed your nose. As it turns out, this host you are currently possessing haven't eaten breakfast, let alone dinner. But there's no time for that. You head to the bathroom and towards a stall which seemed the cleanest. Getting in was easy but getting out, not so much. It took most of your willpower to regurgitate yourself out. By the end of it, your previous host is foaming in his mouth. Not dead to say the least, but unconscious for several hours.
You slither yourself out of the stall and rushed at one of the sink. You turned the tap and absorb as much as you can drink. All the while, you so at out the crystallized pieces of you down the drain. It was a pain I have them inside you. Once back at full size, you flattened yourself and snuck at a tube that lead to the diner ceiling. With your wide perspective, you spied several viable host you can try on.
First is a family of three, a dad and his twin 12 year old sons. You looked around and it seems that the father doesn't have a wedding ring. His two twin sons are fighting over the maple syrup while the dad was too busy scrolling through his phone.
On another tale to the left, a group of jocks are locked on to the television where a football game is playing. A blonde among them is shouting slurs with a southern accent. While the rest are shushing him to oblivion.
On the table to the right of the father, a familiar sight welcomes you. It's Blake Clay and his younger brother Richard "Rich" Clay. Lives a few blocks away from you and way more popular than you. They might be the ticket to check your family or in some ways, stay at your hometown.
In a moment, you ponder. The family, the jocks or the "Clay's". Who do you choose?
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