The chosen road

Enough time has gone by, and I've settled down once more. It's time to confess.

I have taken a life.
I killed a young boy. Not more than 16 years old, I think. I'm not sure how I ended up where I did. I don't remember much of it. I only remember afterwards clearly.
My eyes suddenly regained their focus, and my mind was no longer clouded. Something felt heavy in my arms and the rusty taste of blood was on my lips. I looked down into a gaping wound, the throat almost gone. There was no life left in this child that I still held close to me. I screamed, letting go of his body, staring at the corpse as it collapsed heavily to the ground. The grotesque image seemed to burn itself a permanent place in my mind.
I turned away and started running. I ran for more than an hour. When I finally stopped, I realized I didn't know where I was. It looked like the capitol, but it could be anywhere. I couldn't possibly have taken the train in the previous mental state that I was in. So where was I? I began to walk. Aimlessly looking for anything recognizable. A faint red light, shining like a distant beacon, leading me closer, and I finally saw the giant red and white sign, telling everyone that here was a train station. No one was on the platform, as I looked at the dark blue sign with the name "Hellerup" written in white print.
I looked at the map showing the different train-routes. I was more than two hours away from home, if I had been walking. I'm sure I could not have taken the train to this place. If I had, how come I hadn't attacked any passengers? Had there been none and if so, why hadn't I attacked the train-driver?
A digital bell rang and I realized, that the next train towards home, had stopped at the platform. I walked through the doors and leaned up against the window, as the train started moving.
A girl in the coupe was staring at me. I turned so I faced the window directly, seeing my own reflection. Blood was smeared around my mouth and dark stains decorated my shirt. I tried wiping it away, but my bandaged hands didn't help. The gauze was a dark, rusty red colour and stiff. Red powder fell from it when I moved my hands. I gave up on cleaning my face, and just hunched over a bit, turned towards the doors and away from the glaring lights, hoping no one else would notice.
A little more than half an hour later, I arrived at home with only one thing on my mind. I had to get out of there. "Inside" would quickly find out that White was dead. They would look at his wounds and think it was me. They would also hear about the death of the boy. I would be just as hunted a creature as GRAE. I packed my things while trying to device a plan. My phone was gone. I must have lost it at White's, or maybe during my blind run through the city. There was really no apparent way I could get in contact with "Inside" and tell them of the events. There would be no mercy, I knew that much. I found the three files and stuffed them in my bag and I left.

I'm in a hotel right now. I have withdrawn as much money from my bank-account, as I can. Now I need to figure out what to do.
I won't stop my hunt for GRAE. My reasons for tracking him down, however, have changed. I need to find him. He's the reason I am this way. I'm copy, so I have the same bloodlust. The same urge to kill, so he must know why. I wonder why “Inside“ even dared to let me loose upon the world. If GRAE won't give me an answer, I will kill him and deliver his body to "Inside". Then they can do with us, whatever they wish.
I have to know what I am. I think I hate him. I haven't felt hate before, so I'm not sure if this feeling is hate. It's a dark, vicious sensation. I blame him. When I think of him I feel sick, not physically, but mentally.

I don't know who this MIST is, and right now, I don't care.
My hands hurt less, but they have not healed. My hair on the other hand, has turned an odd shade of rust. Some of it is completely white again. Well, the hairdresser did say that it wouldn’t take colour that well.
Something is different. It may be that I have experienced something awful, but I feel different. My mind is clearer. I am not sure why. New words and feelings have presented themselves to me within such a short amount of time. I wonder if it is the blood that does it? And what about the blood? I cannot let this frenzy happen again. I have to feed. But will I be able to feed without killing, without destroying my victim?

I am no longer who I was