It felt more like waking up from a dream. A better grasp on what was going on this time around, he looked around himself with a new set of eyes. Not just metaphorically, but literally. Bright blues taking in everything around him. His own senses lighting up in a new way. More time, more of an ability to really access what he had and what he could do. He was now more than just some apparent worker bee for something that shouldn't have had anything to do with him. Fights that were not his own. Life held its own purposes for him, but it wasn't about to be about creating death and destruction. If these things were what he had wanted, they would have been unleashed long ago. He wasn't that person. He wasn't really much of a person. Vampirish. A living vampire. Not the same, never the same. People never really seemed to understand, but that was alright, they didn't have to. This was his curse. As long as he was left alone, why would it matter?

Life took its own progression as his eyes moved about the room. There she was, real, blinking, as it to wake from a dream. She wasn't supposed to be here. He had been trying to save her. She wasn't to be saved, there was no saving her. She wasn't special, she wasn't different, she was an abuser. Not some innocent blood dripping from his hands. A look of fear in her eyes, words were about to be processed in a way that Michael Morgan wasn't able to actually gain out of her. With his own speed, Morbius pulled himself from his own bed. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear all those lies that would fall past her lips. A deep snarl fell from his own, as he kicked a wooden chair, only to zip across the room and slam it into her chest.

He wasn't looking to play into some sort of mythical stake through the vampiric heart, but it was the closest and real weapon he could muster. More so that he wasn't actually stabbing her in the chest. Using what force he could, just in case this turned out badly, he was able to create a hole, a large enough one that with his own speed, he was able to pull it out. His hand digging into the cavity and yanking her heart out. There was no regrowing complete organs, especially not the heart. Once removed, her entire body turned to dust before his eyes. Right down to the heart in his hand. All of the blood gone, leaving nothing but filth to remain. A mortal wound. It's all it took. He almost felt sorry for her, with that last look that had disintegrated in her features. The sadness, sorrow, he actually wondered if she hadn't actually been apologetic for the atrocities he had known she committed. But were they ever really? Or would they just serve to use it all over again. To manipulate others to gain their bidding through words in ways he tried not to abuse.

Washing his hands of the mess, he stared at himself in the mirror. A reflection that was like his own, yet not. One that had been so long since he had last seen it. Maybe it just felt that way. It was a hard call. Noting every little wrinkle, every variation of color, he stood there staring. Hairs out of place, but were left to said placement. More would come, more would change. Previous fears felt relieved, but his own maintained. Things were going to continue changing, but answers needed to be found. Investigations to be made. He wasn't knowledgeable in any of this. There was only so much he was brought up to speed on and he hadn't been through any of this before. This was the third time, and yet, he had so many of his own abilities. So much changing, so quickly. There had to be more, there had to be something.

Memories were being shared and it was just a hunch. A logical hypothesis in all of this mess. One worth looking into. Places, things that he had known. New York was where he needed to go, to check on everything. A home he once had, once believed in. A place where he had been the only physician, taking care of those like him, being a leader and doing all of those things that he thought mattered. In the end though, nothing turned out like he had expected. In the end, he hadn't turned out as he had expected. It wasn't his place. They surely had to hate him over it. But now, now he needed to know what was real in this world and what wasn't.

Drying off his hands, he headed for the kitchen to get a broom, dust pan, and a large, black garbage bag. Did she really have to leave so much dust behind? If only he could have done this outside rather than in his room. He didn't want to chance it though, there was a level of control he understood here, better than the other man. A willing victim. There was an obvious difference in which man was which. The abilities, right down to the physical. Healing didn't seem to be on his agenda and if it were, he wasn't risking it. There was no death wish and he was not technically dead.

Grabbing a pencil and paper on his own desk, he began to scribble what he did know. Directions, anything that could be permitted from memory. His own point of directions to double check if it was the same here. It might be there, and it might be the exact same, it might not be. Similarities were easy enough to investigate and look at online. Deeper examination would be done on his own. The sort that would be done first hand and allowed him to actually smile.