The Hunger

It's feeding time in the jungle, jungle
The cold streets, ya, they come alive
Ain't a time to be humble, humble
'Cause only the strong survive
 
The nights, out here
I'm starving just to feel inspired
The fights, my fears
Tonight I won't be denied
 
Can you feel the hunger, the hunger?
Can you feel the hunger, the hunger?
 
The market square flew under his feet as he raced, rooftop to rooftop. The monsters were here and so was he; except that he was late, always late. Five bodies on the floor. Five innocents, dead. All because he had failed. Failed to find the monsters. Failed to kill them. That was the mission, and he was failing that mission. The voice in the back of his mind, formless, shapeless, and wordless fed his mind with that repeated urge which his waking mind then turned to words.
 
Failure. It echoed in his mind like some alarm bell.
 
Never-ever satisfied
Gotta feed this appetite
Before it pulls me under
(Can you feel the—)
 
I ain't waiting for this I'm breaking out of my cage
I'm howling, can you hear the sound?
It's the call of the wild, wild
I'm an animal you can't hold down
 
He'd smelled the blood on the air the last time and he'd still been too late. It had taken everything in him to not sense the heat still lingering in the Confidante's veins. Taken everything to not fall on the next living thing he saw, but instead think clearly, slowly, and rationally. He'd found a clue, perhaps, but still, his mind echoed the word over and over again.
 
Another rooftop flew past him, the flow of his hands and feet as he vaulted over bricks, concrete, and open air. Lungs that didn't need to breathe burned with phantom pain and limbs that barely felt the cold burned with phantom exertion. It was like his brain was one fire, some rational part of him mused as he dropped into the alley, desperate to find some clue, some hint, some... anything.
 
The nights, out here
I'm starving just to feel inspired
The fights, my fears
Tonight I won't be denied
 
Can you feel the hunger, the hunger?
Can you feel the hunger, the hunger?
 
His vision was slowly tunneling, hazing over red.
 
It was hard to think. Harder to feel.
 
Something... anger... something in him was angry. But... he felt strong, he felt powerful. He could hear a thrumming, but somehow he knew it was not his heart. His heart didn't beat. He could hear them out there, out in the streets and alleys, and could feel the pulsing throbbing call.
 
No.
 
Something... anger. Something in him raged. Something in him pull-No.
 
He was hungry, he realized. Starving, really. Everything smelt like fo-NO.
 
With an effort of will he turned back towards the darkness of the alley. He could hear the small thing's heartbeat - or at least he thought he could - and so he flung himself onto it as the hunger roared inside his mind. Tilting the mask up briefly, he sunk his fangs into the matted fur and felt the warm splash of blood soak his mouth.
 
And so he drank, like a drowning man might gasp for air, unless the slender squeaking thing stopped moving and the roar inside his mind finally subsided, satisfied, if however barely, with this small indulgence.
 
Never-ever satisfied
Gotta feed this appetite
Before it pulls me under
 
Can you feel the hunger, the hunger?
Can you feel the hunger, the hunger?
 
And so he took to the rooftops and ran.
 
From what, however, he was not quite sure.