Darkness.
Pressure.
Screaming metal.
A roaring engine tearing itself apart.
A woman crying.
A child praying.
An oxygen mask smacking him in the face as gravity bends and twists—
SNAP.
His eyes fly open and white light assaults him like a flashbang.
The ceiling swims into view: pale, sterile, too bright.
Beep… beep… beep…
A heart monitor. Close. Too close.
He's lying on something soft—no, not soft, stiff. Medical stiff. His muscles feel like rusted metal jammed into the shape of a human body.
Rex Dominic blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Still here.
Still alive?
He tries to speak, but his throat is a desert.
"Where—"
Pain detonates in his ribs the instant he tries to sit up. His entire torso feels like it's wrapped in barbed wire.
The door slides open.
A nurse steps in, checking a clipboard—then freezes, eyes widening as the clipboard slips from her hands and clatters onto the floor.
"Rex?" she gasps. "Oh my god. You're finally awake."
He stares at her. The words don't compute.
"You— you've been in a coma," she stammers. "For two months."
Silence.
Two months.
Rex swallows—every swallow like broken glass.
"What… happened?"
She softens. Her voice drops to that gentle tone medical staff use when the truth is unpleasant.
"You were in a car accident. A bad one. The fact that you survived is practically a miracle."
He freezes.
Car accident?
No.
No, that's not right.
"I wasn't in a car," he croaks. "I was on a—"
The memory hits him like a plane engine to the chest:
Wind screaming through a torn fuselage.
The plane tilting sideways.
A stewardess crying as she tried to pull a boy back into his seat.
The metallic groan of a wing breaking off—
The nurse places a hand on his arm.
"It's called traumatic memory scattering," she says gently. "Sometimes the brain mixes events during trauma. False memories. Confusion. It's normal."
Normal?
Nothing feels normal.
Everything feels… wrong.
Like he woke up in a life he doesn't remember living.
He licks his cracked lips. "Can you… turn on the TV? Please. I need to see what's going on."
The nurse nods and picks up the remote. The TV on the wall crackles to life.
A shaky camera feed fills the screen:
🔥 LIVE — METROPOLIS DOWNTOWN UNDER ATTACK 🔥
A reporter screams over the sound of explosions.
A green energy construct slams into a skyscraper — shattering windows like glass rain.
Green Lantern streaks past the screen, surrounded by emerald light.
The camera whips right.
Rex's breath stops.
Floating above the city is a monster — humanoid, shifting, red-and-black tendrils spiraling off its frame like living blades.
"Is that—" Rex whispers.
The nurse sighs. "Another metahuman incident."
Another?
This was no "metahuman."
This was Carnage.
But not any version from comics, movies, or games.
This one was bigger, armored with bone-like plates, the symbiote swirling around him like a storm made of blood.
He watches Carnage tear through a Green Lantern construct like wet paper.
Rex's pupils shrink.
His breathing accelerates.
"What the hell is this place?" he whispers.
The nurse shrugs, unfazed. "Honestly, I don't keep up anymore. DC, Marvel — whatever they call themselves — they've all gone crazy since The Merge."
The Merge?
Before he can ask, his vision blurs. The room spins like a slow tornado. The world becomes muffled.
Then everything fades—
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
THREE MONTHS LATER
Physical therapy was hell.
Learning to walk again felt like he was dragging concrete around his ankles.
Stretching scarred tendons feels like swallowing fire.
The doctors say he was lucky.
Rex doesn't feel lucky.
He feels… misplaced.
Like he woke up in the wrong timeline — wearing the wrong skin.
But he adapts.
Because surviving is the only thing he knows how to do.
When the hospital finally frees him, he limps out with nothing but a duffel bag, a broken phone, and medical debt heavy enough to crush a small moon.
There's only one city cheap enough for someone like him:
Gotham.
Crime capital.
Pollution capital.
Rent-is-six-dollars-if-you-don't-mind-the-mold capital.
Perfect.
He rents a small, water-damaged studio apartment that smells like damp cardboard and regret. He gets a job stocking shelves in a 24/7 store where the manager has a gun taped under the counter just in case.
He builds a routine.
He keeps his head down.
He pretends to be normal.
Because he is normal.
No powers.
No abilities.
Just Rex.
Just a guy trying to exist.
TWO MORE MONTHS LATER
He finally lets himself go on a date.
Her name is Lena.
Pretty.
Sweet smile.
Quiet voice.
Someone who doesn't look at him like a broken thing.
They meet at a small Gotham diner. She laughs at his awkward jokes, touches his hand, tells him she's glad they matched.
For a moment, Rex feels something warm flicker inside him.
Something he hasn't felt since before the "car crash."
Then—
Walking home after dinner—
He notices they're taking a strange route.
Narrow alley.
Wrong turn.
Too quiet.
"Hey," Rex says lightly, "I think we passed your street."
Lena steps into the shadow between two dumpsters.
Her smile changes.
Becomes sharp.
Predatory.
"You know," she says softly, "I have a niche."
Rex's heart thumps.
"A niche?"
She tilts her head, eyes gleaming.
"I like men who look lost. Men who look like they won't be missed."
Something metallic glints in her hand.
A scalpel.
Not a knife.
A medical scalpel.
Rex's blood turns to ice.
"I was really hoping you'd be the type that screams," she whispers.
She lunges.
The world goes silent.
Rex's eyes widen—
His vision fractures—
Something ancient, something buried, something wrong awakens inside him.
Fear detonates through his body—
And fear is the trigger.
His skin darkens, muscles tightening.
His fingers stretch into clawed digits.
Veins glow electric blue beneath the skin.
His jaw widens, teeth sharpening.
His voice distorts into a low, rumbling growl—
Lena freezes.
"What… what are you—"
Rex doesn't answer.
Because the monster inside him has no words.
Only instinct.
Only survival.
Only dread.
A.N: And thus, the first form of Rex's transformation awakens.
You can check out the transformation notes for details.
Sayonara - T.V