The Reptile groaned in agony. The sensations were almost too much to bear. The breeze against his skin and hairs let him know there was an exit a mile away, covered by a grate, in a dark alleyway. He could feel flickering life, like flames, several feet away, watching him. These succulent morsels, no, disgusting rats, were waiting for him to die. He could tell, from the pitter-pattering of their feet, that they were starving. The mold that clung to the ceiling was noxious to eat, so they ate whatever they could kill, including each other, or they would eat whatever fell into the sewers.
The Reptile could tell all this because of the change. The damn cursed change. Oh yes, studies showed that those who changed physically were more powerful than their more human counterparts, but no amount of power can save you from being lynched by a terrified mob. He had seen one of those mobs, once, when he had traveled through a small town in Alabama, on his way up to D.C. They had chased a man, a man with ears like a bat, eyes like an owl, and a long, prehensile tail, all the way into the woods. He did not know what happened to that man, because he had driven away as fast as he could. It was not entirely out of the ordinary to be swept into those mobs. He would have either been forced to join them or be ripped apart.
Now, however, those people would gladly tear him to shreds if they saw him. What was worse was, without eyes, he would have trouble using technology. Any modern phone will be useless to him. Perhaps if he found a payphone, he could call someone, but who would he call? His parents would call him a monster, his work friends would want to vivisect him, and the police would force him to be tagged and collared like an animal.
The only place to turn would be some hidden mutant enclave, but if even the heroes couldn't find them, what hopes did he have? Nonetheless, they would be the only ones who could help him. Help him get food, shelter, and most importantly, help him come to terms with his new reality. His new life, as a monster. One who was driven to devour any rat he smelled, who's tiny hairs were irritated by even the cold stone floor below him, who had no eyes and was covered in skin-colored scales.
However, he had two things in his favor. His newfound senses, and his mind. The only thing that had kept him alive and sane when he was fully human was his intellect. It would now be the only thing keeping him alive while he was trapped in these dank sewers.
The Reptile had enough of laying down, wallowing in despair, so he pushed himself off the ground, causing the nearby rats to scatter. The little flickering flames raced into the darkness, but the Reptile ignored them because he needed to plan. First, he needed clean water. Being in the sewers, the disgusting waste tunnels under the city, this was going to be difficult to achieve. He did not want to attempt to raid the surface, because he had no combat skills and would likely be caught immediately.
He decided to explore these tunnels before making any significant choices. The Reptile took in his surroundings, the cold concrete floor, the tunnels reaching into the distance, and a rough metal door affixed to the wall behind him. He recognized it as a doorway into a maintenance area. This is a gold mine for this technologically capable reptilian creature. However, he chose not to get his hopes up and grabbed the door handle.
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The door did not budge an inch. Both the hinges and the lock have rusted shut, sealing the door more effectively than most intentional measures could. He pushed against the door, testing it to see if he could kick it down. The Reptile stepped back, bracing himself, then kicked above the door handle with all his might.
The Reptile proceeded to fall onto his back quite comically, as the door slowly fell back itself. He quickly righted himself and rejoiced! His ability to feel his body allowed him to kick in just the right way to apply the maximum amount of force into the door, with the least amount of damage to himself. Now, it was time to see his rewards.
The insides of the maintenance area was a mess. It was cluttered with a wide variety of shiny junk, from rusty switchblades to pipes, he even spotted an altimeter in the chaos. The Reptile's senses informed him of the only living creature in this hovel, a large, fat rat that stood on its hind legs, glaring at him. His hairs felt a small hole, barely big enough to fit his hand through, on the wall, which was probably how the rat had dragged all these items into this space. The rat hissed and chittered at the Reptile, and he moved to back away, but his stomach groaned at him. He needed to feast, and some part of his new mind told him that this rat would be the best meal he could have.
His instincts took over, and he lunged towards the rat as it leaped towards him. He felt it feebly scratching at his scales as his maw closed around the animal, heard it screeching as his acidic saliva ate into its flesh. Blood flowed into his mouth, the wonderful taste of iron filling his mouth. He clamped down on the struggling rat, feeling bones break from the force of his bite as his teeth tore it's flesh to shreds. It was the best meal he'd ever had, and he hated himself for it. But he could not stop. He pulled the rat, twitching in its death throws, out of his mouth, before chomping down on its soft underbelly.
Its intestines squished and rubbed together in his mouth as he chewed, his muzzle dripping blood. His nose was filled with the scent of his killed, and he breathed in deeper. A small part of his mind moved his body away from the more sensitive and important equipment in the cavern, but most of it was occupied with the single task, to feast upon this succulent meal.
When the Reptile was finally sated, he was surrounded by broken bones, emptied of their marrow, and covered in slowly drying blood. Then, he realized what he had done. He bent over and tried to vomit, but it refused to come up. Even with his command over his body, it refused to give up hard fought nutrients. He didn't want to believe what he had done, but the blood covering the front of his body and his hands proved him otherwise.
He had no way to clean himself, but the blood was beginning to irritate the hairs on his body. He flicked his tongue out of his mouth, realizing there was only one solution. The Reptile started by licking his fingers clean, wrapping his tongue around each until they were perfectly clean. He discovered that his tongue was long and flexible, able to reach his chest without him moving his head. Even as he cleaned himself, he shuddered at the grisly task. The Reptile felt reprehensible, sitting among the bones of his kill and a pile of scrap.