You're definitely cooked this time. All those days and weeks spent cooped up in this basement, hiding from all the roaming hybrid creatures above...knowing that it barely takes any contact with them to end up joining them, changing into a screwed-up animal thing obsessed with mating...what was it all for, anyway? All that time suffering on cold expired rations and slimy canned food, and here you are, face-to-face with the instrument of your doom.
She just smirks down at you, know that she's got you right where she wants you...dripping all over everything, daring you to try to run. As if running would stop the inevitable at this point. Her scent is already intoxicating...you feel your nose surging forward into a small snout, the better to detect her readiness. And the stirring in your pants isn't stopping where it should...it just keeps going, growing past your waistband, responding to her call...
Fuck it.