Marcus sat in his home, the bleak of night already set upon the rest of the District, though few would know it; the lights of the massive buildings and streets, as well as the ceaseless hum of vehicles made for a restless night. However Marcus didn't intend on getting any sleep tonight. All was silent in his house, the only noise being the gentle, soft sound of his breath. 

He looked down at his own hands, open palms out in front of him. Deciding this experiment must be done, he grabbed a large knife that sat on the coffee table. Clenching it tightly in his right hand he placed the blade at the edge of his palm, and slowly dragged the blade across the length of his hand, the sound of metal through flesh inescapable. 

Blood welled up from the wound, making a gentle [i]plip, plip[/i] noise as droplets of the red viscous liquid made stains on the floor. A sharp, stinging pain radiated from the open wound and jutted up through Marcus' whole hand. A soft grimace was on his face, but he made no other reaction. 

Suddenly, a sizzling sound came from his hand, and he saw it: the slash in his hand knitting itself together. Scabs, followed by flesh covered the just previously opened wound. Finally, after seconds, his hand looked completely fine. 

Marcus brushed over where the wound previously was with his free hand, feeling no sign of scarring or indentation. "What am I?" He asked himself through gritted teeth. 

{MEANWHILE AT DISTRICT ONE ADMINISTRATION}
"Sir, we have a problem." A middle-aged scientist with thick framed glasses and balding gray hair spoke up. A tall, intimidating man in a suit approached the scientist. "What is it, Dr. Jones?" He responded in a voice that dripped with irritation and impatience. 

"Uhh, erm, Subject X is becoming aware." The scientist responded meekly.

"WHAT?!" The other man roared, sharply looking at the scientists computer. "He's learning of his condition. Distract him. The later he finds out who he is, the better."

"Yes, Sir, right away, Sir." The scientist said before pushing a few buttons on his keyboard.

{MARCUS' HOUSE}
The ringing began. Quiet, itching in his mind; but it began to grow louder, sharper, more unbearable. 

Marcus fell out of his chair, both hands clawing at his head with severe pain. He struggled to reach for a syringe in his pocket, but found his own arms were working against him, fumbling about awkwardly. He lost nearly all feeling in them, tingling radiating through his fingertips. The whispers started again: muddled, inaudible commands both warm and severe. 

He clawed for his syringes, his fingers awkwardly feeling for them, a painful, burning tingling rushing through both hands and arms. He finally wrapped his hand around the cool, thin surface and quickly jamming it into his neck. He breathed out a sigh of relief, breathing quickly as the pain and voices subsided once more. 

He curled up in his place on the ground and began to shudder, tears beginning to glint in his eyes. He then lost all self-control and sobbed himself to sleep on the ground, hating whatever and whoever he was...